


2020 Holiday Oneshots

by cowboy_casey



Category: Unus Annus - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, And more !! The first chapter has more details so I don't clog the tags skfjd, Baking, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff without Plot, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, I lied there's a teensy bit of angst, Ice Skating, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, this is All just fluff y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 36,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28008510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboy_casey/pseuds/cowboy_casey
Summary: A collection of holiday-themed crankiplier/ethamyplier oneshots !!I must warn you this is 90% cliché fluff without plot.
Relationships: Amy Nelson/Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson, Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson/Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 30
Kudos: 116





	1. Overview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ack hello!! This is a collection of fluffy, Christmas-themed one-shots centered around crankiplier + ethamyplier !! 
> 
> This chapter is a little bit of an overview of each chapter ! 
> 
> (please ignore the titles I'm uncreative as Fuck KDJCJ)

Hot Chocolate - Mark makes Ethan hot chocolate. | established relationship

Stalled Car - Ethan's car breaks down on the side of the road. Luckily a stranger is willing to give him a hand. | AU, getting together

Nightmare - Mark has a nightmare. | established relationship

Soulmates - Ethan finds his soulmate Black Friday shopping, of all places. | AU, soulmates

Cookies - Mark and Ethan make cookies and reflect of their relationship. | no relationship, platonic or romantic

Costume - Ethan hates this costume, but he loves Mark enough to wear it. | established relationship

What's All This Then - Ethan stumbles upon his villain counterpart dressing up as Santa. | AU

Hands - Ethan's cold (and a little bit of a whiny baby), so Mark comes up with a solution. | getting together

Love-in-a-mist - Mark meets an old friend on the bus. | AU, slight homophobia/homophobic language

Santa Baby - a spin-off of Ethan making Mark into Santa. | getting together

Overworking - Mark works too much and his partners won't stand for it. | established relationship, ethamyplier

Stomachache - Mark has a stomachache, and Ethan tries to help. | established relationship

Ugly Sweater Contest - Mark wants to win the ugly sweater contest. | established relationship

Ice Skating - Ethan takes Mark ice skating. | getting together

Hallmark I'm Coming For Your Brand - the only way I can describe this one is the title honestly | AU, it's a clusterfuck, read at your own risk

Mistletoe - Mark puts up a mistletoe. Amy uses this to her advantage. | Mark/Amy and Ethan/Mark but Not ethamyplier

Ornaments - Amy, Mark, and Ethan decorate the tree. | established relationship, ethamyplier

Road Trip - Mark and Ethan are on a road trip to visit Ethan's parents. | established relationship

Baby It's Cold Outside - songfic following the song of the same name | established relationship, read end notes

Parents - Amy, Mark, and Ethan prepare dinner for their parents. | established relationship, I know nothing about their parents dkjfkd

Proposal - Mark and Ethan dance in the kitchen. | established relationship

Sharing Clothes - Ethan walks out in Mark's hoodie. Mark has a gay panic. | Established relationship, ethamyplier

Staying Up For Santa - Ethan suggests they stay up to catch Santa. | transfem mark, platonic or romantic

Dinner And A Movie- Mark invites Ethan over for a Christmas Eve dinner to curb both of their loneliness. | getting together

Gifts - Ethan gives Mark a Christmas present, despite the prior "no presents" agreement. | established relationship


	2. Hot Chocolate

**12/11/2020**

“What do you mean we’re out of hot chocolate?” Ethan cries from the couch. He leaps up and trudges over to where Mark’s standing, peering over his shoulder like he doesn’t quite believe the man who buys all of the groceries. “We had, like, seventeen packets!” His chin rests on Mark’s shoulder - pointy jawbone poking into the older man as he talks, and Mark twists his neck until he can press a fond kiss to the top of his head. 

“That was before you made _six cups_ of your triple-packet recipe,” Mark murmurs into Ethan’s hair. “What’s six times three, babe?” 

Ethan just scoffs and pulls away from him, pout still stubbornly refusing to leave his face. The thought of kissing it away briefly crosses his mind, and he almost shoves it down and _away_ before he realizes he doesn’t have to anymore - Ethan is his and he is Ethan’s.

He leans forward and presses their lips together, revelling in the small tell-tale twitch of his boyfriend trying to suppress a smile as he rests a hand on his waist. 

“What, are you trying to bribe me into doing math for you?” Ethan asks when he pulls back, pout seemingly gone for now. “You know I’m illiterate.” 

“Good thing being able to read has nothing to do with math, then.” The younger man giggles, and Mark pulls him forward by his waist to kiss him again, trying to transfer some of the joy overflowing from his heart into Ethan’s mouth - into Ethan. 

It works, apparently, because when they break apart again Ethan is looking at him all soft and gooey - a look reserved for only Mark, and even then only for when he’s truly, utterly, helplessly in love. It melts Mark’s heart, just a little bit, and he faintly wonders if this is how the Grinch felt when his heart grew three sizes in one day. 

Ethan’s gaze flickers back over his face, and he reaches a hand up to card it through Mark’s hair before tucking a stray strand behind his ear and cupping the older man’s jaw. “Why are you always right, mister?” 

Shrugging a shoulder, playfully cocky in a way only he can pull off and he knows both endears and infuriates the man before him, Mark leans into the touch. “I’m just a genius like that. I was almost a -”

“You were almost an engineer, yes.” Ethan interrupts. He pats Mark’s chin placatingly, cheekily sticking his tongue out between his teeth at the half-hearted glare he receives for it. “If you were so good, could you engineer us some hot chocolate?” 

His eyes widen marginally, because, yeah, _that’s_ what they were supposed to be doing right now, and he laughs disbelievingly at how distracting his boyfriend is. “You, sir, are going to be the death of me.” 

“Woah, Mark, keep it in your pants! There’s plenty of time to call me sir later.” With that, Ethan pulls away, sending a wink and playful waggle of his fingers Mark’s way before he’s hopping up on the counter, kicking his legs out with a dull _thump, thump, thump_ that echoes Mark’s heartbeat. “Now come on buddy boy! Make me some cocoa!” 

Mark raises his eyebrows. “Did you just seriously make an innuendo and then call me, your boyfriend, _buddy boy_ within three seconds?” 

“Maybe,” Ethan hums. He smiles cheekily, and runs a hand through his own hair, making it stand up all sticky-outy in a way he’d never let anyone else see. Mark has half a mind to kiss him again. “What are you going to do about it?” 

And what was he going to do about it, indeed? He couldn’t say no to his boy even if he tried. 

“Make you hot cocoa, I guess,” he finally decides on, and slots himself between Ethan’s still-kicking legs to reach the cupboard with the mugs. Once he finds the ones he’s looking for - the CrankGameplays logo mug Amy had made for Ethan, and one with a printed picture of Chica on it for him, he pulls them down, setting them on either side of Ethan. 

The younger man hums idly, reaches out to toy with his hoodie strings, and he’s _right there_ so Mark leans forward and presses a quick peck to his lips before moving back, smiling at the indignant squawk he lets out. 

“Mark!” he whines, in that little Ethan voice that makes Mark all soft and sappy in a way he won’t even admit to the man himself, and Mark simply shrugs noncommittally as he opens the fridge to hunt for the milk and chocolate syrup. “Mark don’t ignore me!”

“Sorry, I only pay attention to people who don’t use up all of the hot cocoa in one day,” Mark retorts, but the bite is lessened by the gentle kiss he presses to Ethan’s cheek as he moves past him. 

His boyfriend giggles again, and starts kicking his legs again now that Mark’s out of his immediate vicinity. “In my defense, it was really fucking good.” 

“Apparently.” The microwave goes off with a soft beep, and he carefully pulls out the mugs full of milk by their handles and sets them gingerly down on the counter. “How chocolate-y do you want it?” 

Ethan pauses for a moment before smiling widely, and Mark can tell by the glint in his eye that he’s really not going to like the answer. “All of it.” 

Spluttering, he pauses in reaching for the chocolate syrup and turns to face his idiot. “Absolutely not - this is almost a full fuckin’ bottle -”

“I want all of it,” Ethan reiterates, and bats his eyelashes in a way that he knows makes Mark weak. “Please?” 

Unfortunately, his little puppy-eyes stint is not going to work this time, and, as hard as it is, he simply shakes his head and turns away from Ethan. “Nope. No, nuh-uh, you’re not getting all of it. What about me, huh?” The younger man’s face falls, just a little, and Mark knows he’s got him. “Didn’t think about that, didja?” 

“... No, but - still, I think I deserve it -” 

“Uh-uh, I want hot chocolate, too -” 

“Are you going to sit there and tell me I _don’t_ deserve it -”

“Yes, I am! I want hot chocolate, too, you _bitch_ -” 

Their voices only escalate past that, each giggling uncontrollably and barely making sense anymore in between their gasps and stuttering. At some point the dogs join them - barking loudly at the excited energy in the room, and that’s pretty much the final straw before they’re both just howling with laughter, quickly-cooling mugs of milk forgotten while the chocolate syrup warms and thaws in Mark’s hands. 

“O-oh my god,” Ethan hiccups, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, “just give me like three pumps or something, man.” 

Mark laughs even harder at that, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, unable to contain the glee bubbling out of him. “This isn’t fucking Starbucks,” he chastises, once he’s calmed down a little, but gives Ethan three big squirts anyways. 

The younger man raises an eyebrow at the squirts of chocolate, and reaches down to the side of him to open the silverware drawer and grab a spoon. “Thank you mister man,” he teases, mixing up the milk and chocolate, filling the kitchen with soft little clinks from the metal colliding with the ceramic. His eyebrows scrunch up in concentration, just barely noticeable, and Mark presses a kiss at the junction to smooth them over.

“Of course,” he murmurs, perhaps a little too serious for hot chocolate, “anytime, for anything.” 

When they’re this close, Mark can hear the way Ethan’s breath stutters, and he gives him a soft smile he only reserves for the man in front of him - all sappy and shit, as is the theme for this evening. “I love you,” the younger man murmurs, running a barely-there hand over Mark’s forearm. “So much.” 

“I love you too.” His eyes flicker to the mug of luke-warm chocolate, and he lets out a little huff. “Even if you try to steal all the hot chocolate from me.” 

Ethan simply hums, eyes flickering with mischief as he sets the mug down on the counter next to him and moves his hand to the back of Mark’s head. “But just think,” he purrs, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, “I can do _this_.” 

And with that, he pulls the older man in for their nth kiss this evening. Mark can taste milk and chocolate and Ethan, Ethan, Ethan, and he melts into the boy under him, quickly deciding he’s found his new favorite taste. 

“You _can_ do that,” he muses, a little while later when they’ve broken apart for more than a second. “I like that a lot.” 

Ethan nods, eyes still closed and eyelashes fluttering delicately against his cheeks, and Mark presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his smile. “Yeah, I like that a lot, too.” 

“Good,” Mark murmurs, already surging forward to connect their lips again. “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.” 

“Me too.” Ethan brings his other hand up to Mark’s head, cradling the sides of his face while ever-so-carefully avoiding his neck, and the simple gesture has Mark falling just a little deeper. “Fuck, me too. Communication’s, like, important for relationships or whatever.” 

The out-of-place comment has Mark moving back just a little - he doesn’t think he could fully leave if he tried - and he drops his head to laugh in the junction of Ethan’s neck and shoulder. Ethan - Ethan who’s normally so careful about their relationship, taking everything slow and gentle and rolling with things as they come - saying _that_ is somehow hilarious in the moment, and thinking about it again sends another surge of laughter through Mark. “Y-yeah, I guess it is.” 

The younger man laughs, too, and his hands tighten marginally in Mark’s hair, tugging gently at the strands. “So’s kissing,” he murmurs, and Mark doesn’t need much more of a hint than that to press a chaste kiss at the base of Ethan’s neck, working his way up with feather-light touches and barely-there kisses until he reaches his mouth. 

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, before finally kissing him again. “God, I love you.” 

Ethan simply hums at that, hands fumbling around on the counter mid-kiss. “I love you, too,” he says once he pulls away, and brings the forgotten mug of hot cocoa up to his lips. “Ew, fuck. Don’t love this.” 

Mark chuckles - because honestly, what did Ethan expect from lukewarm chocolate syrup and milk? - and gently takes the cup from him. “I don’t love you ruining the mood.” 

His boyfriend lets out a small offended gasp, and slaps his hands on the counter now that his hands are empty. “Hey,” he whines, “that’s not fair! I didn’t make lukewarm chocolate milk!” 

“Wouldn’t be lukewarm if you hadn’t distracted me,” Mark hums with a sing-song lilt to his voice, and Ethan ducks his head. 

“ _Listen -!_ ” Nothing else comes out of the younger man’s mouth, even though Mark’s listening so very intently, and he laughs as he puts the mugs back in the microwave. “Just make me hot chocolate, old man.” 

For the second time that night, Mark kisses his pout away and puts the mugs in the microwave. “Of course.”


	3. Stalled Car

**12/11/2020**

“Fuck,” Ethan sighs, half-heartedly kicking the side of his tire. 

It’s currently eleven o’clock at night, pitch black, _freezing_ , and he’s stuck on the side of the road after his car stalled. “ _Fuck._ ” 

A frigid gust of wind blows past him, and he hisses as he clutches harder to the thin fabric of his sweater. He was really regretting that late-night coffee run right about now. Seriously, why did he think it was absolutely necessary for him to get a caffeinated drink at night? 

The paper cup greets him as he slips back into his quickly-cooling car, and he sneers at it as though it, personally, had caused his car to sputter its last heaving breath on the side of some back road. His petty grudge does not keep him from reaching out and taking a sip of the still-scalding beverage, however, and he lets out a pleased sigh as the temporary warmth fills his chest for a moment. 

And then the moment is gone and the cold is back and he blames the coffee again. Because it couldn’t _possibly_ be his fault, of course. How would he know to check the battery of the car or whatever before going on a short drive?

He shivers again, and grabs his phone from the center console. Forking over a hefty chunk of money to get someone to pull him from the mess was _not_ going to be fun, but what other choice did he have? Cursing himself, he looks up the nearest tow service and quickly punches their number into his dial pad. 

A low, gravelly voice greets him, and he shudders a little at how downright annoyed it sounds. _”Randy’s Tow Service, how may I help you?”_

“Uh, hi! I’m, uh, calling because I need a tow. Is that - is that how you say…?” He swallows, and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I need my car to be towed. Sorry.” 

_”... Okay. Where are you?”_ Flushing hot in embarrassment, he quickly rattles off his location and any other information the man asks for, fingers tapping out a manic rhythm on the steering wheel the whole time. 

Finally, the man clears his throat and the faint sound of a keyboard can be heard through the phone. _”Alright, I’ll send someone over there. They’ll be there in an hour or so.”_

Before Ethan can say anything else, the line clicks dead, and he curses softly. 

The headrest is hard when he throws his head back on it, and he winces when his skull bounces slightly, only agitating the headache he felt coming on. What was he going to do in the freezing cold for the next _hour or so?_ There are no places to seek refuge near him - he checked, and they’re all closed or people’s homes, so he’s essentially stuck here. 

He cracks an eye open and sees a faint white _thing_ land on his windshield. When he leans closer for a better look, he groans out loud. 

It’s rain. It’s raining, at eleven-thirty at night, when he’s stuck in his dead car with nowhere to go. 

Luck be a lady tonight, indeed. 

The coffee cup is warm against his hands when he picks it up - no longer a burning, almost-too-hot-to-hold drink he had been waiting on to cool down - and he takes a slow sip. Again, the warmth spreads throughout his chest, and he savors the small reprieve from the biting cold, choosing to keep the cup in his hands rather than return it to the console. 

A car zooms past, and he watches it go with disinterest. Did they notice him, stuck on the side of the road without even his hazards on? Did they just not care? 

He looks out at the hood of his car from inside, and realizes that they probably just didn’t see him. Black cars and late-night backroads never mixed well, after all. 

The next half-hour passes by agonizingly slow - his car only grows colder, leaving his muscles tense and teeth chattering, and his phone battery slowly dwindles down to a measly 30%. If he has any hope of actually getting out of this situation, he needs to conserve the only power he has left, so he reluctantly pockets it.

Now left with nothing to do and no distractions, he gazes out of his car window, curling up painfully small against it to try and stave off some of the cold. Cars zoom past, a surprisingly large amount for this road at this time of night, and he watches them go with something close to resentment tugging at the edges of his mind. 

Stupid people with their stupid heaters and stupid working cars. Why couldn’t he have that? 

Almost as if Lady Luck has finally decided to take a little pity on him, a car slows down next to him, brights clicking off and leaving just their headlights illuminating Ethan and his car. If it weren’t for the soft alarm bells screaming _stranger danger!_ in his head, he would have cried in relief. 

And then a man gets out of the car - a tall, _attractive_ man with a surprisingly kind face if the hazy image he gets through the window and headlights is anything to go by - and those alarms quickly fade to the background. 

While he was stuck in his trance, the man had walked up to Ethan’s window, and he gives him a shy smile as he makes a “roll your window down, please” gesture. 

What a fucking dork - who even used that anymore? He’s pretty sure he’s in love. 

Still shaking, he jerkily cracks open the door, kicking it wider after the stranger has moved out of the way. “Sorry, windows don’t work,” he explains. His voice cracks from lack of use, and he winces much to the man’s amusement. 

“No, I figured,” he replies, and _fuck_ if Ethan didn’t think he was attractive before the soothing low timber of his voice sure sends another wave of heat to his cheeks, and he smiles shyly. “Car battery dead?” 

“Fuck if I know,” Ethan jokes, smile cracking impossibly wider when the stranger chuckles. “Haven’t touched a car a day in my life.” 

“It’s a dying skill, unfortunately.” He raises an eyebrow - not really sure if the man is calling him out personally or not - and the dude laughs again. “Don’t look at me like that - where would you be if I didn’t know how to jumpstart a car?” 

And - oh, shit, _yeah_ \- that’s what they’re supposed to be doing. The man was here because he wanted to help Ethan’s pathetic ass get off the side of the road. Hopefully, anyway - he was still a stranger. 

Not having a comeback to that, he simply shrugs noncommittally and moves over to the hood of the car, popping it open so the man can look inside. 

Fuck, he really hopes the dude isn’t a secret murderer or something. 

He leans over Ethan’s shoulder - shirt brushing against his back, and he shudders at the warmth. “I’m Mark, by the way,” he says, chuckling nervously. Cute. “I probably should have started off with that.” 

“Probably, but I’m not one to talk. Ethan.” He twists around to hold out a hand, and Mark takes it hesitantly, only to yelp and pull away

“Holy shit, you’re, like, ice-cold!” he explains, eyebrows furrowing in concern. Ethan just laughs humorlessly at that and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“Yeah, sitting for an hour in the cold will do that to ya.” 

Mark’s eyes widen, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Oh my god - an _hour_? Did you not call someone?” 

Feeling just the slightest bit offended, Ethan turns around fully, thanking whatever’s out there - Lady Luck or otherwise - that it’s so dark the other man can’t see his blush. “No, I’m a complete moron.” Mark’s expression shifts to something a little sheepish, and worried he’s made the man think he was _actually_ offended, Ethan smiles gently. “They said they’d be here in an hour or so - no sign of ‘em yet, though.” 

Mark hisses sympathetically and hums a soft “ouch,” before turning his attention back to the car. “I can’t _see_ anything wrong with it - I mean it’s, like, pitch-black, but…” He runs a hand through his hair, and Ethan dimly wonders what it would be like to do the same. His hair looks _really_ soft - and the perfect length for playing with. 

Which is a weird thought, considering this is an actual _stranger_ , but Ethan’s always been one to fall quick. 

“I think it might be your battery, honestly.” Mark says after a beat. He glances over the various parts in the hood once more before nodding resolutely. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s the battery.” 

Ethan sighs gratefully, and passes his eyes over the engine as though he has even an inkling of what he’s doing. “Oh, that’s, like, easy to fix right?” 

“Yeah, actually, I can just jumpstart you n -” midway through turning towards his car, Mark stops, and throws his head back with a dramatic groan. “Fuck, nevermind. I left my cables at my friend’s house. I’m really sorry, man.” 

Not wanting the dude to beat himself up over this - just him pulling over was amazing enough - Ethan puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. He tenses, but relaxes before the younger man can pull away, so he takes it as a sign that the touch is okay. “Hey, it’s cool! Don’t be sorry. You distracted me for a little - that’s good enough in my books!” 

“Still…” He can tell Mark is going to go on about how he should have been ready (he knows the type - _is_ the type), and because luck has never been on his fucking side (aside from Mark pulling over, of course) he shivers violently just as the other man opens his mouth. “Oh, shit, you’re probably freezing.” He bites his lip, and Ethan politely looks away until he talks again. “You can, uh, sit in my car if you want? Just until whoever you called gets here. I - I’ll stay outside if you want, to prove I’m not some murderer.” 

The utter hesitancy and notion that Ethan could give two shits about being murdered while he is, indeed, freezing his ass off is both hilarious and endearing, and he feels his lips move up in a lopsided grin. If they weren’t lit only by his headlights, Mark could probably see the utterly dopey look on his face right now. 

“Really? That’d be _so_ great dude. And you don’t have to sit outside! It’s your fuckin’ car!” Mark grins back at him, and surprisingly doesn’t argue as he moves towards the car to open the passenger door for Ethan. “Such a gentleman,” he murmurs, and Mark just laughs loudly before moving to his side of the car. 

Once he’s inside, Ethan can’t help the immediate shiver that wracks his body, and shakes his hands out like he’s shaking off the last of the cold. The heavy warmth after sitting in the cold for so long is painful, in all honesty, but he tactfully doesn’t mention that as Mark hovers his hands over the air vent. 

“Can’t believe you were out there for so long in just that, dude.” He comments, and Ethan shrugs. 

“Listen, I thought I was only going out on a quick coffee-run. I didn’t think my car would stall on the corner of nothing and nowhere.” 

Mark raises his eyebrows and turns towards him, an incredulous smile playing on his lips. “Corner of nothing and nowhere? We’re literally in L.A.” 

“And what about it? Seems pretty empty here to me.” 

“Then you’ve clearly never been to Ohio.” 

This time, it’s Ethan’s turn to raise his eyebrows, and he leans back against the seat as his muscles slowly relax into the warmth. “I take it you have?” 

“Yep,” the other man pops his “p,” and Ethan can’t help but find that one small act endearing. “Grew up there, actually. There’s, like, three buildings, but I love it.” 

“What made you move out here, then?” And with that, the conversation picks up - both rambling about their journeys across the country and big dreams of becoming public figures. Before either of them know it, their cheeks hurt from laughter, and they’re startled out of the pleasant conversation by a loud tow truck rattling down the street. 

“Oh, fuck, guess your ride’s here,” Mark muses, watching as the truck backs into the small area left on the shoulder of the road. Heaving a heavy sigh, Ethan nods, hesitantly reaching out for the door handle. He does _not_ want to re-enter the cold hellscape of outside - not right after he has finally reached a comfortable temperature - and most certainly does not want to leave Mark. 

Casting one last look at him, Ethan finds that the other man is smiling a little _too_ fondly at him, and he smiles back involuntarily. “Like something you see?” 

Instead of the witty response he’s expecting, Mark actually coughs, and rubs the back of his neck like some cliché teen movie character before looking back at him. “Yeah, actually,” he says, making Ethan nearly choke on his own spit, “uh… Coffee sometime? Preferably not in a cold car at midnight, though.” 

“Yeah, no - I wasn’t.” He stops, runs a hand through his hair, and starts again, hoping Mark can’t see the flaming blush on his cheeks that he can _feel_. “I wasn’t planning on anymore late-night coffee runs, no. But yes to any-other-time coffee. Of course. I mean, you’re, like, amazing? And also super fucking attractive, wow.” There’s a soft click as he slams his mouth shut, and he stares at the other man with wide eyes, blinking owlishly. Fuck, why did he always have to make things awkward? 

“Sounds like a date,” Mark laughs, somehow not put off by Ethan’s weird rambling, and holds out his phone. “Here, put your number in so we can make a plan, yeah?” 

“S - sure,” he stutters, suddenly shaky hands fumbling with the dial pad. “Sounds like a date!” 

When he gets his phone back, Mark smiles at the contact name - just the word “Eef” with a blue heart emoji - and mumbles out a fond “cute.” 

“Uh, I should probably get going, now,” Ethan says, still not opening the door. Mark nods in agreement, but makes no real move either, so they sit and stare and smile at each other for a moment more before a sharp knocking on the window has Ethan nearly jumping out of his skin. “Fuck!” 

“Either of you Ethan Nestor?” Comes the muffled voice from outside, and he reluctantly pushes open his car door to greet the man, wincing at the bitter sting of the cold. 

“Call me, okay?” he asks, getting a small nod and fond look from Mark before he shuts the door, and he moves over to his own car to talk to the tow truck driver. 

Mark’s car finally leaves after he and the driver do - headlights still shining behind him even after he turns down another back road and drives away. Ethan dimly wonders what preoccupation he’d pulled the man from - and what he was doing out at midnight, anyway - but quickly pushes it aside with the comforting thought that he’d saved him another hour alone in the cold. Not to mention the fact that he got a date out of it - that was pretty sweet, too. 

If the driver notices his dumb smile, he says nothing, either for professionalism or lack of care, and drops Ethan off at his house, leaving the boy alone to swoon in the quiet of his room. 

He’s glad Mark was out there, and he can’t wait to get coffee with him - this time at a perfectly reasonable hour.


	4. Nightmare

**12/23/2020**

Mark wakes up with a start - heart pounding in his chest as he jerks out of sleep. The horror he had felt in his nightmare latches on for a moment more, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself, looking around the room for a distraction. 

It’s early morning - if the blue-white sunlight creeping across the room and sudden chill is anything to go by - and he glances at the clock sleepily, not quite ready to face the day if he doesn’t have to. Luckily, he doesn’t - it’s barely six in the morning, and he falls back onto the mattress with a sigh. 

Turning over quietly, he watches Ethan’s back, chest rising and falling with his breath. It’s good to see that he’s still sleeping - Mark was a little scared he had woken him with his nightmare - and he smiles. Even though he can’t see his face, he’s sure he’s sleeping with his eyes half-open like he always does, and he lets out a little amused puff of breath through his nose at the mental image.  
It’s a couple more minutes before he moves again. Ethan shifts slightly with a groan, and scared he’s having a nightmare, too, Mark reaches out and runs a gentle hand over his arm and back. 

It’s a little while later before Ethan stirs again, but this time it’s for good. He turns over, knocking Mark’s hand off his shoulder in the process, but the older man couldn’t care less when his boy is looking at him like that. 

“‘Morning,” he rumbles, and Mark melts a little, still not tired of his raspy morning voice even after all this time. “How long’ve you been up?” 

The sun is fully up now, basking the room (and Ethan, he notes, eyes roaming freely over his exposed skin) in warm yellow lighting as opposed to the barely-there blue hues of before, but Mark doesn’t mention that. “Just a little.” 

“Mm.” He folds a hand under his head, and Mark laughs at the way it squishes his cheek. “You should keep doing the arm thing, I think,” Ethan suggests, smiling despite himself.

He wastes no time in bringing his hand back up to Ethan’s arm, letting his fingers barely brush along the skin there, and smiles back at the man. “You think?” 

Ethan nods and cuddles back into the blankets, throwing an arm around Mark’s waist to pull him closer. The warmth and weight of another person feels nice, grounding, and Mark lets himself melt into the gesture. “I do. Feels nice, y’know?” 

“I would not, seeing as it’s not happening to me, and all.” It’s stupid, but the teasing feels comfortable right now, and he slips back into the familiar rhythm of their banter after the cold-water-shock of the nightmare. 

“Aw, do you need someone to pet your arm, Marky?” Ethan teases, thumb now moving in circles against his hip bone and eyes sparkling as they look up at him. “Because I can pet your arm if you ask nicely.” 

“Shut up,” Mark chuckles, pinching his shoulder lightly. “I hate you.” 

“You love me, though.” 

Smiling widely, he nods as much as he can in a bed. “Yeah, I do.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence, neither really having much to say until Ethan trails his hand up Mark’s back to get his attention. “So why were you up, anyway?” 

Knowing he’s been caught, Mark shrugs and averts his eyes. He feels like a kid again - shaky and teary and begging for someone to hold him - and he takes Ethan’s hand in his. “Nightmare,” he admits softly. “They’ve been getting worse lately.”

“Oh,” the younger man breathes. “I’m sorry.” He scoots closer to Mark, shaking the bed in the process, and pulls him into a tight hug. “Can I help at all?” 

“Not really,” he murmurs into Ethan’s hair, free hand coming up to tangle in the strands. “I think it’s the cold, honestly. I always get nightmares around christmas.” 

“That… sucks.” Ethan pulls away from him, just slightly, and gives him a humorless smile. “So you’re just - like, sleep deprived when cheer and enthusiasm are supposed to be at their highest?” 

“Unfortunately,” Mark rumbles, giving him a wry smile of his own. “It’s a miracle I haven’t gone full grinch.” 

“With how often you quote the movie? It sure is,” Ethan giggles. “Let’s make today a slow day, yeah? I really don’t want to get out of bed.” 

“Ditto,” Mark agrees. He brushes a lock of hair away from Ethan’s face, and smiles fondly. “Besides, I could look at this all day.” 

Ethan laughs, then, louder than anything this morning has been, and shoves his face into his hands to hide the blush there. “You’re such a fuckin’ sap.” 

“Maybe. Just for you, though. I love you.” 

“...I love you, too, simp.”


	5. Soulmates

**12/12/2020 - 12/13/2020**

Ethan sighs, checking his phone again for the fifth time. It was still only three in the morning - not even a hint of the sun peaking over the horizon - and he was freezing. 

Shivering, he pulls the blanket he had brought with him tighter around himself, nuzzling his cheek slightly into the soft underside peeking out along his shoulder. The motion exposes his hand slightly, and he watches the streetlamps reflect off of the black splotch there with belated amusement. 

Out of all of the handshakes he’s had, small brushes of skin against his, days spent interlocking his hands with his friends’, he’s honestly surprised the black area hadn’t erupted with color yet, revealing his soulmate. 

Such is life, he supposed. 

He sighs, and tucks his hand back into his measly cocoon of warmth, looking around at the people in line on either side of him. They’re all the same - a small family in front of him with a shallowly-sleeping baby (why you would bring a _baby_ black Friday shopping escapes him), and a college-aged woman behind him, passing the time on her phone. 

He likes her outfit, he decides. It’s pastel and flowy, and gives her a nice vibe. Part of him thinks that they could get along, had they ever met before. 

As he’s watching her, a man walks up beside her, carrying two thick blankets in his arms. He slings one over her, and presses a kiss to her hair. “Thought you’d be cold,” he explains. Ethan knows it’s rude to eavesdrop, knows they’re going to catch him staring creepily at them any second now, but there’s something about them that’s so captivating, and the man’s voice certainly does not make it any better. 

The woman smiles gratefully, and curls up into his side once he’s gotten his own blanket on. He laughs, and lifts his head up to look around, making direct eye contact with Ethan. 

Oh, shit. 

“Hey!” he greets, instead of any accusation or questioning about _why_ a stranger was staring at him. “Cold out here, isn’t it?” 

Spluttering awkwardly, Ethan gives him a jerky nod. “Ha, yeah… Got a blanket,” he adds dumbly, lifting up a corner of the soft fabric. 

“Us too!” the woman laughs, looking up from her phone. “Crazy world we live in.” 

“Yep…” 

They trail off into an awkward silence, until the man shakes his head with a soft, breathy chuckle. “I’m Mark, by the way. This is Amy.” 

So Mark was the mystery man’s name. He definitely _wasn’t_ going to be committing that to memory. 

“Ethan,” he supplies, smiling tightly. “Uh, are you guys black Friday shopping, too?” Kicking himself for the stupid fucking question - why _else_ would they be in the same line as him at three in the morning? Think, Ethan! - he blushes in embarrassment as Mark laughs and Amy’s eyes crinkle up in amusement. 

“Nah, we’re out here for the thrill of it,” he jokes. When Ethan is just about sure he’s going to _die_ , Mark’s face softens. “Why, are you out here to get some -” he turns his head to look at the store window, obviously reading off the advertisement there - “... rootin’ tootin’ point ‘n’ coupon deals?” 

Ethan laughs despite himself, only growing louder when he sees Amy shaking silently alongside him, and relaxes slightly into his blanket. 

“Yes, I am here in search of… whatever you just said.” 

“Good, us too,” Amy chimes in. Not knowing what else to say to that, they trail off into another silence, though this time much more comfortable than before. 

They pass the rest of the “morning” like that - joking around in small spurts of conversation every twenty minutes or so before eventually lapsing into another silence. He learns that they woke up at two, Amy’s looking for a specific fettling knife she had seen on the store’s website but was always too expensive to feasibly spend money on, and, most importantly, that Mark and Amy are just really close friends, while Mark himself is single. 

If he quietly thinks and thinks about that last particular fact while staring at his soulmark, then that’s nobody’s business but his. 

“Oh, you’re going for the game, too?” Ethan asks once they’re inside, hesitation obvious in his voice as Mark keeps pace alongside him. “That’s… cool!” 

Almost as if reading his mind, Mark just laughs and looks forward at the still-full aisles. “Don’t worry, we’re here early. I’m sure there’ll be enough for both of us.” 

“Yeah,” Ethan agrees, still not entirely sure. There were several people before them in line, after all, and there was no guarantee the game was as fully-stocked as the rest of these aisles. It was new, and physical copy only - that was kind of the whole point of him arriving that early in the morning. 

They move forward in sync - Ethan swears Mark speeds up when he does - and he shakes his hands out to dispel the weird, antsy energy building up inside of him. He’s only known the dude twelve minutes, but he seems nice enough - not the kind to steal something from him. 

Finally, they turn a corner and land eyes on the videogame section. Ethan can see it - can see the game he’s been wanting for months - and he lets out a little happy gasp. 

And then he sees the other man on the other side of the aisle walking towards the games, and he speeds up frantically into a little half-trot, hands shaking in anticipation at his sides. 

Mark glances over at him - probably to see why he’s suddenly started going faster - and locks eyes on the man, too. Huffing out a laugh, he speeds up as well, and they both wince when one of their shoes makes a noise that’s just a _little_ too loud, not wanting to alert the other man to what they were doing. 

Unfortunately, he seems to catch on anyway, and soon all three of them are speeding toward the videogame aisle. 

When they get closer, Ethan realizes there are only two games left within easy reach, and knowing he’s not exactly the tallest guy, starts speed-walking more intensely. Mark and the other man are right on his heels, though, and they all converge in front of the game at the same time. 

It’s a blind panic from there. They all reach for a package - Ethan, the one closest to him, Mark the one just next to Ethan’s, and the man for Mark’s - and he hardly even notices the sharp stinging in his hand until the stranger curses and moves away with a grumble to get an employee. 

“Ouch, fuck,” he hisses quietly, holding up his hand to inspect it. Mark looks up from his game, reaches out his own hand with a sympathetic “what happened?”, before they both stop.

“That wasn’t there before,” Ethan whispers, referring to the bright fucking patch of color still swirling around his hand where his soulmark was, faint glow slowly fading. The initial sting is gone - or maybe the adrenaline from trying to nab a game and the sheer shock of discovering his _soulmate_ while black Friday shopping, of all places, makes him think it is - and he turns his hand around in distant wonder, taking in the pattern moving and stretching with his skin. 

“Mine either,” the other man agrees. His voice is just as shocked and hesitant and mystified as Ethan feels, and when he glances over to Mark’s hand, eyes roaming over the colorful splotches circling around his palm and wrist, he lets out a little disbelieving laugh. 

“I’m kind of glad it wasn’t the other guy - he looked a little shady.” Mark laughs then, a loud, full-body laugh that throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut tight, and Ethan is suddenly _very_ glad it wasn’t the other guy.

Once he’s calmed down a little, Mark rubs the back of his neck with his other hand - the one with a surprise upgrade is still held out limply in front of him like an early 2000s zombie, mirroring Ethan’s own scattered state of mind - and fumbles with his game. “Uh, guess we should, like, talk or something?” 

“We… probably should, yeah. Hi, my name’s Ethan.” And then he remembers that Mark already knew that, and quickly backtracks. “Uh - you knew that. Already. I - this is really awkward I’m so sorry.” 

Maybe he’s willing his own stupid little seedling of a crush onto the other man, but he’s looking at Ethan a little more fondly than most do when he rambles, and that makes his heart flutter - just a bit. “You’re fine. Um, do you want me to, like, put my number in your phone, or?” 

“Yeah!” Ethan says, just a little too quickly, and fumbles to pull his phone out of his pocket while holding the game. “Uh - yeah, here -” he jerks his arm out, practically jabbing Mark in the chest with it and winces, “just put your number in, yeah.” 

Luckily for him, Mark is equally as antsy, and accidentally snatches the phone from him. At the apologetic smile he gets, Ethan just flashes back a sympathetic one of his own - hoping it Mark gets the fact that he’s absolutely okay, Ethan’s a little awkward right now, too, and he’s honestly a little relieved his soulmate isn’t too perfect for him, all from the one gesture alone. 

When he gets his phone back, Ethan glances over the contact name - a simple “Mark (your soulmate)” - and huffs at the notion that something so important to him could be simplified to a note by his name. “Maybe we can talk about this sometime,” he mentions, holding up the glossy videogame box. “When you’ve played it.” 

Mark smiles at that, probably too genuine for a stranger (though Ethan cuts him some slack due to the whole, you know, soulmate thing), and nods. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Me too,” he sighs, before wincing slightly because _obviously_ he’d like that - he brought the idea up in the first place. “Uh, until then, I guess. It was nice meeting you!” 

“It was really nice meeting you, too,” Mark adds, running a hand through his hair. Ethan can’t help the way his eyes track the movement, and certainly can’t help the way his heart stutters and pounds in his chest long after Mark leaves.

They’re soulmates, after all.


	6. Cookies

**12/17/2020 - 12/18/2020**

“Oh, come on, Mark! You know better!” Ethan whined, prying the measuring cup out of Mark’s hands. He knocked his palm against the side of the glass, holding the cup up to his eyes to watch the flour level out. “You always pack it!” 

Mark rolled his eyes, but took the cup back and slapped it nonetheless. “Why are you so uptight about this? It’s just _cookies_ , man.”

Ethan gasped, like he had never been more offended in his entire _life_ , and clutched the bag of flour he was putting away to his chest. “Just cookies? My good sir, these are not _just cookies_ \- they are _christmas cookies!_ ” 

The older man raised an eyebrow, and carefully set the measuring cup down so he could cross his arms. “There’s a difference?” 

“Yes there’s a fucking difference!” Ethan screeched, laughter breaking apart the words into something near-unintelligible. “It’s christmas!” 

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” 

“They’re, like, supposed to be full of cheer and stuff,” he waved the bag around animatedly, unaware of the small clouds of flour falling to the floor or Mark’s softening expression, “all the good things in the world. I don’t know - they’re just special Mark!” 

Mark glanced at the mixing bowls set out, the counter already coated in ingredients and trash, and the mess in the sink before turning back to Ethan. “Alright,” he conceded, beginning to stir the dry ingredients slowly. “Alright, we can make them ‘special.’” 

Grinning like a loon at the words, Ethan threw the flour down on the counter and grabbed the eggs. Mark decided not to mention the fact that he was putting the flour _away_ two seconds before. 

“You see, most people don’t beat eggs the right way,” he commented, a little while later. The counter around him was splashed with egg yolk and milk, but Mark still looks at him attentively. “They don’t - they don’t get the right motion.” 

“Like a drilldo?” 

“Exactly! You’re supposed to go up and down and ‘round and ‘round - not side to side!” Mark nodded, like this was the most important information in the world, and turned back to the hershey kisses he was unwrapping. “Like, you know, with your wrist!” 

“Mhm.” He snapped the top off of a kiss and cursed quietly. Well, there was no point in that one going on a cookie - might as well eat it. 

“Are you even listening to me?” If he unwrapped three more, he would have enough for this batch. Did they have another bag?

“Absolutely,” he hummed, not listening at all. Ethan grumbled, but didn’t say anything about it and continued his rant about the proper way to whisk an egg. 

Finally, they managed to scrounge together one batch of batter, and Mark glanced over the mess in the kitchen with a grimace. How had they gotten flour on the fucking _ceiling?_

“Okay, do you want to get those on the sheet while I pull up another recipe?” Ethan asked, already scrolling through his phone. “I was thinking we could do, like, peppermint _something?_ ” 

Not let in on the plan to make more than one batch in any way, Mark quickly stopped plopping the balls of dough onto the sheet and looked back at Ethan. “What? We’re making more?”

“Yeah, dude!” Ethan looked at him like he was crazy, which Mark didn’t think was very fair considering _he_ was the one that neglected to tell him that he would be required for more than one batch, and flipped his phone around. “Look, don’t these look fantastic?” He gestured to the picture of the red-and-white cookies on the screen, and smiled brightly. “They’re nut-free, low in sugar, and only make, like, twenty!” 

“Only twenty, huh? I’m sure they’ll keep perfectly alongside the other twenty cookies we’ve made.” He starts scooping up spoonfuls of batter again, looking pointedly at the large number of cookies they were already going to have. 

Surprisingly, Ethan simply smiled brighter, and went to the pantry to rummage around Mark’s ingredients. “Yep! Why do you think I chose to make them here? You have more storage space.” 

“Okay, wow, I see. You simply keep me around to _use_ me for my wealth you gold-digging son of a bitch.” It was meant to be teasing - a funny joke to add to their banter, but Ethan flinched slightly and his hand tightened around the peppermint extract he was holding, and Mark immediately knew he fucked up. 

But he didn’t know how to fix it. Because - what could he say that would let Ethan know he absolutely _never_ thought like that without getting all mushy and _gross_ and so far past the boundaries they had set in place? They just didn’t _do_ feelings. 

Which is probably how they got here in the first place, but… That was another far-too-sappy conversation that he didn’t need right now. 

So he settled on making a joke - relying on the old “two wrongs definitely make a right all the time” principle and shoving his foot down even farther down his throat. “Uh - if you… want to earn your keep you can, like, make the other cookies?” His voice had cracked and warbled, and Ethan had turned around slowly with a raised eyebrow. “Um, like, to - to earn back the cost for the… ingredients… I’m fucking this up.” 

“Yeah, a little,” Ethan giggled, but it was still a little too high, a little too tight. “Sorry, I can take them to my house if it’s a bother -” 

“No! No it’s - it’s not a bother. _You’re_ not a bother.” Mark ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the feeling of the dough getting caught on the strands but ultimately not caring. “Dude, if I didn’t want to do this with you I wouldn’t have agreed.” 

Ethan hummed, and set the tiny bottle of peppermint extract down on the counter with a soft click. “I still shouldn’t have used all of your ingredients -” 

“ _Ethan._ If I didn’t want you using them I would have asked you to buy some of your own. You’re a grown man - I know you can take care of yourself.” Because that was the thing, isn’t it? There was a difference between them - an almost-power dynamic, if he looked at it too closely. He’s seven years older than Ethan, with a wealth disparity that they just can’t ignore, and a previous boss-employee relationship. It was irresponsible to pretend there wasn’t a certain tension between them because of their inherent dynamic, and Mark wasn’t in the mood to dance around it. “You’re one of my closest friends, Eth. You’re not just a kid I hired, man - you never have been.” 

And apparently that was a little too close to feelings territory than either of them were comfortable with, because Ethan ducked his head and picked at the plastic wrapping on the peppermint bottle. 

“Listen -” he started again, still not entirely sure how to proceed but surging ahead without a plan anyway “- I know there’s been a... Bit of a dynamic between us in the past, but I don’t want that going forward. You’re such a bright, intelligent, and promising young man and I _hate_ it when you act like you’re stuck in my shadow. You have _so_ much potential, Ethan.” 

A small sniffle permeated the silence, and when Ethan looked up Mark was alarmed to find that his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “You know,” he croaked, “it would probably help if you stopped calling me a ‘promising young man.’” 

Mark snorted at that, and then when Ethan let out a small, watery chuckle, burst out into full-on laughter. “Y-yeah, it probably would.” 

“Um - thank you, though. That’s really sweet of you, dude,” Ethan said, after Mark had stopped laughing. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, and tapped the peppermint extract on the counter in a manic rhythm. “Love you.” 

Mark smiled at that, a soft, gooey thing Ethan was sure he had never seen before, and rubbed his upper arm. “Love you too, dude. Just remember, you could literally never be a bother to me.” 

“Really? Not even if I do… _this?_ ” Mark was only given a moment to prepare before Ethan was reaching out to tickle him, fingers wiggling mid-air and reaching for his neck. 

“Fuck!” Mark yelped, shooting backwards, “okay, yeah, that’s where I draw the line you asshole!” 

Ethan merely laughed again, and chased Mark around the kitchen. “Come on, Markimoo! Just let me tickle you!” 

“Over my dead body you bony-ass gremlin!” 

In the end, not very many cookies got made, what with the tickle fight, the flour-slinging competition, the _second_ tickle fight, and various stolen spoonfuls of batter, but it was enough for the two of them. 

And, hey, Ethan was right - they fit perfectly in his ridiculously large pantry until they passed them out at that year’s christmas party, much to the delight of the guests.


	7. Costume

**12/22/2020**

“This isn’t holiday cheer, Mark. This is blackmail.” Ethan shifted slightly underneath the christmas tree costume, huffing when the one-step-away-from-cardboard material folded awkwardly under his arms. “Why do I have to be the tree?” 

“Because you’re the only one that actually fits in the costume, like I’ve said seven times,” Mark countered. He barely looked up from the ribbons he was curling, and Ethan groaned. 

“I don’t know why there has to even _be_ a tree!” Ethan whined. “Trees are unnecessary! Every third-grade school play knows that! I could be working on the camera, or set, but _no_ \- I have to be a goddamn tree.” The costume bunched up awkwardly in front of his face when he reached for his water bottle, and he let out a frustrated growl. 

Mark set down his ribbons, and looked at Ethan sympathetically. “Are you actually upset about this? Because I could move you if needed.” 

Giving up on the water bottle, Ethan retracts his arms back inside the costume, sighing a little in relief when the material doesn’t dig into his armpits anymore. “No,” he admits. “It’s just really fucking annoying.” 

“Seems like it,” Mark hums, starting on a new ribbon color. “You look cute when you’re angry, though.” 

“I hate you,” Ethan mutters, but blushes all the same. “I can’t believe you would patronize me like this. Your own boyfriend.” 

“Maybe you should stop being such a patronizable bitch, then.” There’s a second of silence, and then both of them are breaking out in laughter, surprise from the comment setting in. “O-oh my god - I am _so_ sorry!”

“No, that’s - that’s fair,” Ethan chokes out, hands clenching around his shirt from inside the costume. “Holy _shit_.” 

Mark gets one last round of giggles out of his system, and then turns to face Ethan. “Okay, I think Tyler should be coming over in a bit to film the actual video. Do you want to get the parts without him out of the way now so you don’t have to wear that stupid-ass costume all day?” 

“Fuck yes,” Ethan groans, already standing up. The costume catches on his knees, unwilling to stretch, and he nearly face-plants into the ground before Mark catches him. “I hate it here.” 

“Sorry, baby. I’ll buy you pizza later?” 

“Pizza _does_ sound good… fine. Come on, let’s just do it.” Mark beams at that, and Ethan knows he’d do it for him even without the promise of food.  
If he doesn’t tell Mark that, though, just to make him order pineapple pizza, then that’s his business.


	8. What's All This Then

**12/24/2020**

“What’s all this, then?” Ethan asks, pushing off from the wall. His cape swishes behind him, and he can’t tell if the annoyance on Markiplier’s face is from that or his shitty british accent. “Dressing up as Santa on Christmas Eve… what are you doing?” 

“None of your business,” the man shoots back, backing up against the wall. His eyes dart around, clearly looking for an escape, and Ethan steps closer to him. “Just - let me go.”

Not used to the genuine pleading as opposed to cocky banter back and forth, Ethan pauses. “Why would I?” 

“I’m not… on the clock tonight.” There’s a running joke between them that their alter-egos - superhero and supervillain - are more like odd-hour jobs at this point, and Markiplier laughs when he brings it up, clearly trying to deflect. “I have somewhere to be. That doesn’t involve any evil schemes, of course.” 

“Dressed like Santa?” He looks the other man up and down, taking in the fake beard and padded red suit with amusement. Believing him for now, he steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Costume party or something?” 

The other man coughs, and rubs the back of his neck, jostling his hat in the process. A tuft of black hair peeks out, and he quickly pulls it back down over his forehead, pulling up his beard for good measure. “Not… exactly.” 

Ethan tilts his head in confusion, and looks over the man once more. “Then what _are_ you doing? I can’t think of any other gigs that involve Santa - ‘sides from mall santas, but all the malls are closed right now.” A sliver of suspicion creeps up on him, and he steps closer to the villain once more. “If you’re plotting some christmas-themed scheme or something, that is seriously sick.” 

“No!” Markiplier shouts, raising his hands placatingly. “I would _never_!” When he doesn’t say more, Ethan not-so-subtly glances down at the handcuffs in his belt and back up to him. 

They have a weird dynamic. Technically, he could - and _should_ \- arrest the villain whenever he sees him, seeing as the man is a wanted criminal. But he never does, for some reason.

“I -” he huffs, twisting his hands in the tacky santa sack. “Fine. I’m… maybe going to St. Mary’s to read to the kids.” 

“St. Mary’s as in the orphanage?” 

“Yes! Okay?” He flushes behind the fake beard, and Ethan feels something pull at his heart. “I’m passing out presents and reading to them until they fall asleep. God knows the staff needs it on Christmas Eve.” 

Ethan’s quiet for a moment, absorbing the new information. “You do this every year?” he eventually asks, looking at Markiplier with something fluttering around his chest that wasn’t there before. “That’s… really sweet of you.” 

“Well, I mean, I know how my childhood was. Christmas was always… small, if it happened at all. I’m evil, sure, but - if I can help them, why shouldn’t I?” He coughs awkwardly, and rubs at his neck again. “So are you going to let me go, or do you want to call Elizabeth and tell her why santa can’t be there?” 

Ethan blinks at the admission. He knew the villain wasn’t truly evil, but - to frequent an orphanage enough to know the staff’s names? That was something else. 

“I’m coming with,” he decides, suddenly.

Instead of the warm welcome he's expecting (which probably says more about him than anything), Markiplier laughs at him. "No way, dude. Not in your hero costume. I'm not about to be upstaged by fucking _Crankplays_."

Wincing at the mention of the name he chose when he was sixteen, for whatever reason, Ethan huffs. "Fine. I won't wear the costume, then."

"What?" Now it's the other man's turn to be surprised. He looks over Ethan warily, and for some reason he flushes under the scrutiny. "I… I don't have another Santa costume for you to hide your identity with, or anything."

"I know! I was just… gonna go as me." He shrugs lamely, and crosses his arms over his chest. "Hang out with the kids and Santa for a bit."

"... You're not worried I'll, like, stalk you or anything? Find your loved ones and kill them? Nothing?"

"Well now that you're bringing it up, a little." He chuckles, to show it's a joke, though it morphs into something more genuine when he sees the villain's eyes widen. "But no. I trust you. You're reading to orphans as Santa, for god's sake."

“Listen, that stays between us, okay?” Markiplier threatens, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I can’t have it getting out.” 

“That’s fine,” Ethan laughs, unclipping his cape. It falls gracefully over his shoulder, and he hands it to the other man. “Here, screen me.” 

“What?” 

“Hold it up. I’m getting changed.” 

“You’re _what?_ Hold on -” His protests fall on deaf ears as Ethan nimbly undoes the spandex top, and he quickly holds up the cape. “A little warning! Jesus!” 

Ethan shucks off his pants, and tosses them at the other man. “I gave you all the warning you needed! I even gave you a cape to hold up!” 

“I’m starting to think you’re the real villain here. Public indecency, Cranky? For shame.” Ethan laughed, and took the cape back once he had civilian clothes on, gently folding the rest of his costume inside of it. 

“Call me Ethan,” he murmurs, looking up at the villain again. There’s an unmistakable blush on the other man’s face, and he smiles softly at the attention. “What, cat got your tongue?” 

“Mark,” Mark chokes out. “Uh - my name’s Mark.” Ethan watches as he tears off the beard and hat with reckless abandon, and giggles when he stutters again. “Since we’re sharing identities and all.” 

Ethan laughs, and winks at Mark. “Mark… Markiplier… How creative.”

“I know, right?” Mark jokes. He checks his watch, and then hisses. “We should get going, soon.” Pausing for a moment, he looks back at Ethan, and gives him one of the most genuine smiles he’s ever seen from the man. “Thank you.”


	9. Hands

**12/12/2020 - 12/13/2020**

“Oh my god your hands are freezing jesus _fuck_!” Mark yelps as he jumps away from Ethan, rubbing his own hands over the spots on his cheeks where the younger man’s icy fingers had touched. “When you ask someone if they want to feel how cold your hands are and they say _no_ that usually means ‘don’t touch them,’ Eth!” 

Giggling, Ethan simply shrugs and pushes his tongue between his teeth. “But _Mark_ ,” he whines, “how else are you going to know how cold they are?” 

Huffing, Mark shoves his own hands in his pockets and continues walking. “I won’t - that’s the _point_.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ethan shrug and start trudging along behind him, but neither of them make any move to continue the conversation, so they walk on in semi-comfortable silence. 

A few minutes later, Ethan’s shivering again, and he shoves his hands into his pants pockets. Mark can tell the position makes him uncomfortable by the bunched-up shoulders and swinging elbows, and has half a mind to say something before Ethan beats him to it. “Mark, I’m cold! My hands are _so_ cold!”

“Calm down, you big baby,” he sighs, clenching his own hands in his pockets at the reminder of the chill. “We’re almost there.” 

The younger man sighs obnoxiously loudly, but stays quiet otherwise. 

Until they come to stop at a crosswalk, and he sidles up next to Mark, of course. “God, why did we even try to walk? This was so stupid. We should have driven.” 

Groaning, Mark finally turns to face his friend, sharp retort melting on his tongue as he actually _sees_ Ethan. His face is flushed from the cold - nose red and cheeks ruddy - and his eyes sparkle with the tears built up from gusts of cold wind. Completely forgetting what he was going to say, his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he struggles not to let his eyes roam anywhere else. 

“Uh… yeah, we probably should have driven,” he says, even though that’s the exact _opposite_ of what he was going to say, and shakes his head to clear the sudden not-exactly-platonic thoughts bouncing around his skull. “But this is, like, exercise.” 

“I guess so,” Ethan hums, turning back to the road with a small frown. The light still hasn’t changed, somehow, and Mark finds himself following Ethan’s example and staring listlessly at the thick white stripes of paint on the road. “I’m really cold, are you sure we’re almost there?” 

“I’m sure, Eth.” He says. His friend nods, and shifts his weight from on foot to the other for a few seconds before Mark gets tired of it. “Come here.” 

Complying almost immediately, Ethan stumbles towards him, and Mark gently takes the boy’s hands and stuffs them into his own hoodie pocket, cupping them in his palms and pressing them against his stomach. “Jesus, they’re still freezing.” 

Ethan makes a soft noise at the warmth, right in his ear, and shuffles closer to him, pressing his chest flush against Mark’s back. Like they’re spooning standing up or something. “That’s nice,” he murmurs, resting his chin on the older man’s shoulder, “but I think we missed the light.” 

“Fuck,” Mark groans, watching the long line of cars start to roll across the intersection. “Sorry.” 

“Hey, you’re out here same as I am.” Ethan snuggles closer to him, and Mark briefly ponders why he’s allowing him to do so before ultimately deciding he just doesn’t care and relaxes in his hold. “Also, this is simp behavior.” 

At that, Mark immediately tenses and shifts away from Ethan - as much as he can, anyway - letting out an amused scoff. “Simp behavior? I’m literally just trying to warm up your hands!” 

“Mhm, by holding my hands in your pockets like a real-life rendition of sweater weather?” 

There’s no real comeback Mark can use for that one without inviting further teasing, so he stays silent, aside from a soft grumble about how ungrateful Ethan is. If the younger man hears it, he says nothing and simply returns his head to Mark’s shoulder, bringing back the warmth there that he hadn’t even noticed he’d missed. 

“Your chin is fucking pointy, dude.” 

“Says you! Mr. bony ass hips - they’re poking into my wrists!” 

“Well at least you don’t have bony fingers clawing at your stomach! You’re like a fuckin’ bird, man.” 

Ethan giggles at that, and wiggles his fingers inside Mark’s pocket. Mark, who is not expecting still-freezing fingers to start wiggling against his stomach, yelps in surprise, jumping back into Ethan. “ _Fuck!_ ” 

“Who knew you were so ticklish?” Ethan squeals in his ear in between peals of laughter, and even though the loud noise makes him wince, Mark can’t help but smile, too. 

“You asshole,” he chides, though there’s no real bite to it. “Tickling a vulnerable man when he’s just trying to help. I should throw your claw-hands out into the cold.” 

The younger man shakes his head quickly, almost knocking into Mark, and presses his hands against the other man’s, like he’s trying to get him to physically hold him back from tickling him. So, if Mark does, it’s not his fault. Ethan asked for it. “No! You wouldn’t you _monster!_ ” 

Instead of answering, Mark simply intertwines their fingers and rubs small circles on the side of Ethan’s hands with his thumbs - a gentle reassurance that no, he really wouldn’t do that to his friend. 

Friend. Pal. Buddy. Homie. Comrade. 

Slowly, Mark pulls his hands from Ethan’s, letting them lie limply against each other instead of the intertwined state they were in before. 

Surprisingly, Ethan doesn’t comment on it - only shifting slightly as the steady stream of cars driving past trickles to a stop. 

The pedestrian light turns green, and Mark walks forward, somehow temporarily forgetting that he and Ethan are literally connected. He jerks to a stop, as Ethan hasn’t started to move yet, and looks behind him exasperatedly. 

“Are you coming, or?” 

Snapping out of some trance or something, his friend blinks, and then immediately stumbles forward far too quickly and knocks into Mark. “Shit! Yeah, yeah, I’m… Yeah.” 

Rolling his eyes, Mark moves to remove his hands from his pockets only for Ethan to latch onto him. He looks back with a raised eyebrow, and the younger man mutters out a soft “I’m still cold,” before trudging forward again, forcing Mark to move with him.

They probably looking fucking ridiculous - crossing an intersection with both of their hands in his pockets like this - but it’s just so _them_ that Mark can’t help but laugh, a fond smile spreading across his face. 

“What?” Ethan asks, a smile clear in his voice. “What’s so funny, mister?”

“We look so stupid right now.” 

“Probably.” A shoe finds its way onto his, pulling it off of his heel as he moves forward, and Mark groans. “Sorry!” 

“No, it’s fine,” he grumbles as he gets to the end of the crosswalk and bends down with all of the grace of a malformed penguin. “Eth, get your hands out of my hoodie you idiot. I can’t fix my shoe with you trying to climb on me like that.” 

Ethan lets out a little indignant squawk, but removes his hands and takes a step back nonetheless. “Well I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t know my hands didn’t stretch far enough to stand comfortably! That’s not my fault.” 

Once his shoe is back on, Mark stands up with a groan and turns toward the younger boy. “Not your fault? Who’s fuckin’ fault would it be? They’re _your_ hands!” 

His point is diminished by a woman pushing past him to get to the crosswalk button, and he quickly pulls at Ethan’s hand and scurries away. 

There’s a beat of silence as they walk down the road, but once they turn the corner and are out of earshot of anyone there they burst out in laughter. “Oh my _god_ ,” Ethan giggles, “I cannot believe - cannot believe that we did that!” 

“I _know!_ Why did we think that was acceptable public behavior, walking along like some gross-ass newlyweds or something?” The implication of the sentence is not lost on him, and he hopes the new heat on his cheeks can be explained away by the cold - even if it’s not really all that cold and Ethan is just a baby.

There’s a flicker in Ethan’s eye - one Mark knows well and dreads with every fibre of his being - and he slowly holds up their intertwined hands. “Like this?” 

And, fuck, that’s right, he and his friend are still holding hands when they absolutely do not have to, so he rips his away and stuffs it into his pocket with an awkward grin. Ethan - well Ethan actually looks a little _hurt_ by that, and that was not Mark’s intention whatsoever, so he tries to alleviate some of the sudden tension with a dumbass joke, as per usual. “What? Can’t have people think I’m dating _you_ \- that would ruin my reputation!”

Fuck him gently with a chainsaw, Ethan actually looks a little _more_ hurt by that, and turns away from Mark with an awkward “yep.” 

Panicking, he tries to sift through his mind for any advice for this - any “so, you’ve fucked up and offended your friend but you don’t know how you did,” PSA - and comes up empty, much to his chagrin. So, he bites the bullet and opens up his big, fat mouth again. 

“Sorry. Did you… want to hold hands?” He’s about to add on a “even though yours feel like mini icebergs,” but decides that may not be the best course of action right now and leaves the offer where it is. 

Ethan scoffs, so soft Mark’s pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear it, and mutters out a bitter “you sure? Can’t have anyone thinking you’re dating _me_.” 

Oh. Yeah, that was - that was probably deserved. 

The only problem with that is that he can’t exactly remedy this situation without revealing just a tad more than he would like, so he settles on hesitantly reaching out and taking Ethan’s hand - the one that’s still swinging out in the air despite being _so cold_ \- in his own, intertwining their fingers once more. 

Ethan’s still a little upset, he can tell, and not wanting his friend to be offended a moment longer goes against every rational thought in his brain and begins talking again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t - didn’t mean that. I think you’d be great, uh, boyfriend material.” 

“But not for you?” The blue-hazel-fuck-if-he-knew eyes that meet his are wide and vulnerable, and Mark knows they’ve reached dangerous territorty. “I’d be a great boyfriend, but not for you?” 

“I never said that.” 

“You just did - ‘I’d ruin your reputation,’ remember?”

And, yeah, Mark does remember, even though he very much so wishes he hadn’t remembered, and he ducks his head in shame. Well played, Ethan. 

So he puts all of his cards on the table - right out in the open for Ethan and the whole world to see. “I - I think you’d be amazing for me, honestly, and it kind of scares me, so I made a dumbass joke so you wouldn’t catch on and I’m sorry.” 

“Oh,” Ethan says. He squeezes Mark’s hand, and swings their arms a little bit. “Oh.” 

“Yeah… uh, I just confessed, you know. I think this is where you, uh, respond.” He’s being an asshole and he knows it, shoving the foot in his mouth down his throat, but he’s so scared of losing Ethan he really doesn’t care. “If you - if you want to.” 

“Give me a sec,” the younger man murmurs, not meeting Mark’s eyes. He hasn’t pulled his hand away, though, so Mark’s not utterly terrified right now. “‘S not every day your, like, crush or whatever reciprocates.” 

Mark knows he got into this mess by teasing Ethan, but the joy that one tiny little sentence brings him pushes past any rational thought, and he figures he only heard it because he teased his friend, anyway. “Crush? I’m your _crush?_ ”

“Shut _up_ ,” Ethan whines, burying his face into his free hand. “What else would you call it?” 

“That’s a fair point, actually,” Mark concedes when he can’t think of any other term. “Still. It’s the principle of the thing.” 

“You’re making me regret this,” the younger man warns, but his hand is still warm in his, and their arms are swinging wildly in tandem, so Mark figures he can’t regret it all that much.


	10. Love-in-a-mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey indie lgbtq christmas movies i'm coming for your fuckin Brand

**12/14/2020**

Mark closes his book with a sigh, lifting his head up to refocus his eyes and delay the inevitable headache that always seems to accompany reading on a bus. 

It wasn’t a very interesting book, anyway. He’d rather people-watch. 

Looking around, he notices the mother two seats in front of him hushes her baby, and he smiles when he catches the child’s eyes on him. Unfortunately, the peaceful moment only lasts a second more, and then the bus is screeching to a stop with a sharp jolt, leaving the baby sniffling again. 

Honestly, why couldn’t bus drivers learn how to use the fucking _brakes?_

No one gets off - who _would? _the only place around is some gross-ass bar everyone’s been to and everyone hates - and he’s fully prepared to start reading again until the person who gets on catches his eye.__

__Their hair is a soft brown, pushed up and messy as though they had ran a hand through it one too many times, and their outfit - even though it’s a simple bartender uniform - is far too put-together for this part of town. Needless to say, the stranger immediately catches his attention._ _

__And then he turns around, and the curiosity shrivels up into a burnt husk of bitter anger and regret._ _

___The boy sat on his counter, legs swinging wildly as he spooned trix cotton candy yogurt into his mouth, staining his fingers a bright watercolor of pinks and blues._ _ _

___“We’re always gonna be together, yeah?” he asked, taking another bite. “‘Cause I don’t think I could live without my yogurt supplier.”_ _ _

___Mark laughed and dipped his finger in the yogurt, licking it off with a small smile. He ran his clean hand through the boy’s hair - blue, then, like the love-in-a-mists his mom had growing on the back porch - and let it rest on his jaw. “That’s not all you keep me around for, I hope.”_ _ _

___“Nah, I’m sure I can come up with another reason to keep you around.”_ _ _

__He hadn’t - kept him around, that is - and Mark breaks from the memory with a small shudder. Fuck him, he didn’t care anymore._ _

__Praying that the man wouldn’t notice him, Mark shoves his nose back into his book, curling even tighter against the window and hopefully out of view. He had noticed his old friend, after all, there was nothing to say he wouldn’t be noticed, too, even after all these years._ _

__Unfortunately, it appears the universe just really fucking hates him, because as soon as the bus starts moving again the boy stumbles over to his seat, sitting down on the empty one next to him with a small groan. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “no other seats open.”_ _

__Mark should’ve put his fucking backpack there, and let the asshole stand. But he didn’t, so he lets himself have a small victory in refusing to acknowledge the other man._ _

__Apparently not noticing the less-than-friendly response, or maybe just not caring, he starts up again with a cheerful smile. “I’m Ethan!”_ _

__And - Mark damn near _flinches_ at the name. At the reminder of what he had done - how he had fucked Mark over so many years ago._ _

__Instead of letting Ethan know this, though, he simply raises his book higher and shifts away from him. “Tough crowd,” Ethan mumbles, and Mark seriously has to hold himself back from whacking him upside the head with _Out of Eden_. _ _

__A large portion of the bus ride passes in silence (aside from Mark “accidentally” elbowing Ethan once or twice), and he kind of wishes he had the uncomfortable tension back when Ethan speaks up again._ _

__“There’s - uh, there’s a whole other side of your seat, you know. You don’t have to keep elbowing me.” Mark scoots further down, slouching in a way he never would and hikes the book up higher over his face, knocking into Ethan again in the process. “Okay, what the fuck, dude? Have we, like, met before or something?”_ _

___”You’re my whole world, bro,” Ethan giggled, moving Mark’s hands to his waist. “No homo, though.”_ _ _

___Grinning fondly, Mark stepped forward, leading them in a slow dance around his kitchen, and shoved down the fluttery feelings that definitely weren’t supposed to be bubbling in his chest. “No homo,” he agreed, “but you’re my whole world, too.”_ _ _

__Logically, he knows he’s done his best to keep Ethan from recognizing him, knows he would _hate_ the outcome of Ethan recognizing him, but that _hurts_. Ethan already left him once - Mark’s got the scars on his heart and the avoidance of Christmas to prove it - and that one little sentence feels like he’s doing it all over again. _ _

__Mark’s over it. He really, really is._ _

__But he lowers the book slowly, anyway, and stares at Ethan intently. With any luck, the younger man won’t notice the fear steadily rising in his gut, and will be too focused on the anger and resentment Mark is desperately trying to telepathically communicate to him._ _

__There’s a moment of silence - just long enough for Mark to regret his actions - and then Ethan’s shifting away from him. “Mark?” he whispers, eyes flickering over his face as though he thinks the older man is simply a hologram. “Wow - it’s so good to see you!”_ _

___”God - I never want to see you again, okay? You’re so - you’re so_ weird _!” Ethan yelled, pushing back from Mark. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, spitting into the sink for good measure. “I - I can’t believe you’re one of them. My best friend - in love with me this whole fucking time!”__ _

___Mark braced a hand on the counter, world spinning as his heart shattered and his worst fears came true. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go - he wasn’t supposed to lose Ethan._ _ _

___“You kissed_ me _!” Mark accused, pointing a shaking finger at his (ex?)best-friend. “Under the mistletoe last night - you fucking kissed me!”__ _

___Ethan scoffed, and slammed his hand on the counter. “I had spiked eggnog, Mark, it didn’t mean anything.”_ _ _

___“So… what? All of those late nights, those dates - because they were dates, Ethan, no matter how many fucking times you said ‘no homo’ - everything was just what? A joke?”_ _ _

___“I guess so.” Ethan pulled back completely, drumming his fingers on the opposite counter. “I guess-fucking-so, Mark. How could you do this to me? You already know what everyone at school calls me - how could you prove them right like that?”_ _ _

___For the first time that night, Mark’s speechless, and he watches silently as Ethan yanks on his shoes. “Don’t ever talk to me again,” Ethan hisses, giving him one last look as he puts a hand on the doorknob. “I don’t want your gross fucking gay germs, or whatever.”_ _ _

__And with that, he stormed out, leaving Mark alone on Christmas Eve with a kitchen floor covered in broken, half-iced gingerbread men and a half-decorated house._ _

__So, yeah, fuck Ethan. He always did have a terrible memory - Mark wasn’t surprised he didn’t remember how he was just passive-aggressively elbowing him not two minutes ago._ _

__“What, not going to get another seat now? Not afraid of my germs anymore?” Mark bites back, a little too defensively for being so completely over something that happened years ago. He allows himself the spite, though, seeing as that incident had pushed him the furthest back in the closet he had _ever_ been. Hell, he still had problems with PDA to this day, scared others would be just as angry with him. “Thought you couldn’t be seen with me.” _ _

__Ethan’s eyes widen, and instead of the sharp anger Mark’s expecting from years of petty fights and squabbles, his face crumbles into something _remorseful_. “Oh, fuck, that’s - no, that’s fair. I’m _so_ sorry, Mark, I -” he stops, and runs a hand through his hair, confirming Mark’s earlier theory about the origin of the messiness of it. “You - you were right, honestly. I was - scared. And that’s not an excuse, but… uh, I’ve changed, come out of the closet, if you care. Fuck, I’m sorry.” _ _

__And Mark _wants_ to forgive him. There’s a small little part of him that still holds a nostalgic ache for him, still sees him as his best friend. But he was _still_ so hurt. So he compromises, extends the tentative olive branch first. _ _

__“Good - I’m glad you’ve realized what a fucking twink you are.”_ _

__Ethan giggles, and then full-out laughs, and the shriveled-up little dead thing in his chest thaws, just a little. “Bold of you to assume I’m a bottom,” he snorts._ _

__“Bold of you to assume you’re _not_.” Mark retorts, taking in Ethan’s form again. He’s grown a lot since they last talked - filled out more, came into his own. Mark can’t deny it’s attractive, and struggles to push down the same fluttery feeling as all those years ago. _ _

__“Har har.” He shifts under Mark’s gaze, and realizing that’s probably still a boundary he’s not allowed to cross, even after the new information, the older man snaps his eyes away. “Uh - I think my stop’s coming up here, soon - but… If you wanted to maybe meet up again, I’d love that.” Ethan rubs the back of his neck, and looks down at the floor with a new shyness. “I’ve missed you, man. I’d like it if we could maybe be friends, again. Even though I majorly fucked up.”_ _

__Mark blinks, and says nothing for a minute. Then, a smile cracks across his face, and he lets out a little disbelieving huff. “I would, uh - I would like that, too. Brenda’s this Saturday?”_ _

__Smiling at the callback to their favorite diner, Ethan nods giddily. “Yeah, I’m free around one.”_ _

__“Sounds perfect,” Mark assures, making a note to reschedule with his trainer. “See you then.”_ _

__The bus comes to a lurching stop, and Ethan collides with the back of the seat in front of him. “Ouch. See you then!” He stands, rubbing his nose, and throws one last smile back at Mark as he leaves the bus._ _

__Fuck, Mark’s in deep._ _


	11. santa baby

**12/13/2020 - 12/17/2020 - 12/19/2020**

“You actually look a little bit like a mall santa I saw once,” Ethan muses as he puts another clump of Chica’s fur on Mark’s face. “A lot grumpier, though.” 

“I really fuckin’ wonder why,” Mark grumbles. Ethan can tell the beard is itchy, and the globs of glue are sliding down onto Mark’s neck which he _hates_ , and he feels a little twinge of sympathy. Just a little one, though, as he puts another tuft right under Mark’s nose. “Fuck you. Why did I agree to this.” 

“Because you love me,” Ethan practically purrs. He giggles when Mark makes no comment other than to huff angrily, and pats his head placatingly, probably getting a little glue on the soft strands in the process. 

Mark’s eye twitches, and Ethan boops his nose semi-sympathetically, really playing it up for the video. “Alright big boy, I think you’re done now.” 

“ _Big boy?_ ” The older man’s voice is like glass as he sits up, fake annoyance bleeding into something real, and Ethan makes a note to tone down the jokes. “Did you just call me _big boy?_ I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

“Yeah man! Santa’s a big boy! I mean, he has his stomach, and you have your tits!”

The silence speaks volumes, and Ethan awkwardly shuffles to put away the empty bag of dog hair. 

“So… can I take this off now?” Mark asks, once the quiet has stretched on for a few minutes. “I mean, that was pretty much the video, right?” 

Ethan ponders that for a moment - that _was_ the video, after all. Dressing Mark up was all they had planned. But then he gets an idea. A terrible, awful, no-good idea. 

“No, Mark!” he whines, “You have to _be_ Santa!” 

Mark stops dead in his tracks - hand halfway to his make-shift beard - and chokes on his own spit. “ _What?_ ” 

“Come on, Marky! You’ve gotta get in the holiday spirit!” Ethan pats the side of his face, getting glue on his hand which he quickly wipes off on Mark’s shirt. “Now, be Santa!” 

His friend twitches, video persona melting off just a little, and then glances towards the camera. “Fine,” he huffs, patting his lap. “Get on up here, sonny.” 

And - you know, for some reason Ethan didn’t quite think about that. Didn’t quite think about getting on Mark’s lap, in the middle of a video, for a stupid bit. “What?” he chokes out. “I - your lap?” 

Realizing he can use this to get back at Ethan, Mark grins and pats his lap again, an absolutely despicable expression spreading across his face. “Yeah, that’s where the kids sit, isn’t it? Now get up here, _big boy_.” 

Ethan has two options right now: get on Mark’s lap, or chicken out and ruin the rest of the video, thus giving Mark more teasing ammunition for later and admitting that this was a horrible idea all along.

Mark’s teasing could be _brutal_ , but… he really did not want to sit on the man’s lap. 

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Ethan reluctantly moves forward and braces his hands on Mark’s shoulders as he lowers himself down onto his lap. He doesn’t sit completely down, though, instead choosing to hold himself up by the arms of the chair. 

Obviously not satisfied by this, Mark just huffs, and grabs Ethan’s hips to pull him down. The younger man lets out a rather undignified squeak at this, but settles hesitantly nonetheless. 

“There,” Mark mocks, “now was that so hard?” 

“A little, how am I supposed to know this isn’t some weird fetish of yours?” 

Mark sputters at that, and his hands jump off of Ethan’s hips to flutter around in the air. “What? It was _your_ idea!” 

That’s just plain wrong, first of all, so Ethan gently slaps Mark’s chest to show how utterly upset he is by this. “No - I distinctly remember _you_ saying I should sit on your lap!”

“But you wanted me to be Santa - and by extension, you wanted to do this video idea.” 

Not caring enough to delve into that argument, Ethan just hums and wiggles a little in his seat, giving Mark an innocent smile. He’s not being a little asshole, no sir - he would _never_. 

His friend grumbles, but makes no other comment, so Ethan counts it as a win. 

“So, aren’t you going to ask me what I want?” He finally asks, throwing an arm around his friend. Mark groans and tries to squirm away, but Ethan’s weight keeps him trapped in a cruel trick of fate. “‘Cause it doesn’t look like you’re doing a very good job of being santa right now.” 

“I’m going to kill you,” Mark hisses. “I’m going to actually murder you.” 

“It’s not _my_ fault you can’t do your job!” Ethan whines, in his little Ethan way, and shifts on Mark’s lap. 

Mark, of course, does not take kindly to this and immediately shoves Ethan to the floor. “I’m not even wearing the suit, and everyone knows you can’t be santa without the suit!” He smirks triumphantly down at his friend, thinking he’s won, but Ethan’s slow smile sprinkles little seedlings of doubt in his gut. 

“You know, I had almost forgotten about that,” the younger man mutters, fingers twitching against the floor and a cheshire grin plastered to his face. “Thank you _so_ much for reminding me.”

He doesn’t even get a chance to witness the panic in Mark’s eyes as he darts off to grab the costume he had ordered, tearing into it with a childish glee. 

The thing is, he doesn’t quite remember ordering _this_. Instead of the jolly old padded costume he had bought, a small red dress with obnoxiously fluffy white trim greets him, and he balks at the length of the skirt. 

Dear god, this was the beginning of some fucked-up fanfiction. 

At a significantly less excited pace than before, Ethan trudges back to where Mark’s stewing, holding up the dress with a nervous chuckle. “So… not exactly what I ordered.” 

The older man’s eyes trail down the outfit, and then immediately lock onto his. “Absolutely not,” he deadpans. “That dress looks like it’s _your_ size.” 

“Mark!” Ethan whines - he’s been whining a lot tonight, it seems - tacking on an exaggerated pout for the video. “You have to wear it! You’re santa, and santa can’t be santa without the suit!” 

Mark glances at the thing one more time before groaning, hitting the back of his head on the chair when he throws it back. “Fine.” 

And then he starts _stripping_ right in front of a completely unprepared Ethan, leaving the younger man flushed and embarrassed. “Mark! What the fuck!” 

“I’m getting into the costume, you big baby. You’ve literally seen me naked.” 

“We had underwear on!” 

“I’m wearing more underwear right now.” It’s true - his boxers are definitely longer than the skimpy thongs they had adorned, but that doesn’t make it any _better_. 

“Oh my god - fuck, dude,” he groans again, finally having enough brainpower to snap out of his daze and turn around. “Warning next time!” 

All he gets in response is a grunted “nope” and the sound of a zipper catching, and then the whole ordeal is over. 

“Okay, _now_ you can sit on my lap,” Mark teases, patting his thighs. Ethan kind of regrets ever being born at the gesture and idea of sitting in Mark’s lap while he’s wearing a fucking skirt, but he complies anyway, plopping down with considerably less teasing than before. “There - that wasn’t so hard! Now tell me, what do you want for christmas, little boy?” 

Completely blanking, he shouts the first thing that comes to mind - a tesla - and then dissolves into laughter. “Wait, no, I already have one - hold on.” 

“That was the first thing you thought of? A fucking tesla? Dude. You could’ve chosen _anything_ ,” Mark laughs, throwing his head back and hitting against the chair again. Ethan briefly wonders if that hurts. 

“I mean - listen! I’m just a little, I don’t know - flustered, right now, okay! It’s not my fault!” 

Mark raises an eyebrow, gleeful smile quickly twisting into something more sinister. “ _Flustered?_ By what?” 

The spit catches in Ethan’s throat, and he quickly looks away as he splutters. “Nothing! “Flustered was the wrong word to use -”

“I’m not sure, you seem pretty flustered right now,” he interrupts, glancing at the blush Ethan can _feel_ on his cheeks. “What’s got you all hot and bothered? Is it sitting on my lap? Is it the skirt? Come on, tell me!” 

Decidedly not wanting to admit it’s any of the above, Ethan simply turns away even more and hides his face in his hands. “Shut up,” he groans, “shut up, shut up, shut up.” 

“Aw, you’re cute,” Mark purrs, grabbing under his knee to hike Ethan’s leg up even farther up on his lap. “I’d like to see you in this - I think it really is more your size, anyway. Couldn’t get the zipper up.” 

Sidestepping how utterly non-platonic this is, Ethan slowly uncovers his face. “Damn. Your titties are just too big, man.” 

This time, Mark flushes, and he pulls up the body of the dress with a proud grin. “Thank you, I’m so glad you like them.” 

“I hate you. How are you not embarrassed right now? This is a very embarrassing situation.” 

“I can tell - you’re like, _red_ red. I don’t know why, though, this is pretty normal for us.” 

He’s not wrong, if Ethan’s being honest with himself, but that’s not really what he’s talking about. “No, I mean - you, like, _ugh_!” Even more embarrassed by trying to voice what, exactly, is getting him so “hot and bothered,” he hides his face in Mark’s shoulder. “Calling each other cute is not exactly normal.” 

Mark stills at that - the first sign this whole night that he’s even a fraction of the level of mortified Ethan is - and rests his hands on the younger boy’s hips again. “No,” he agrees, “this part is new.” 

The non-answer surprisingly does nothing to ease the anxiety bubbling in his stomach, and he bangs his fist against Mark’s chest weakly. “What does that even _mean?_ You’re not - giving me any clue as to what you’re feeling here, and it’s stupid! I actually feel _more_ scared when you do that!” 

When Mark doesn’t speak for a hot minute, Ethan slowly pulls away from him, surprised to find that his friend (for now?) is already looking at him with an intensity Ethan’s never seen directed at him. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I - uh, I basically think you’re really fuckin’ cute and would love to get coffee with you in a romantic sense sometime. Basically.” 

“Oh.” Ethan processes the information, and then his eyes widen. “ _Oh._ ” 

“Oh?” 

“God - fuck, dude. Yes. Yes I’d love to get coffee with you, you moron. I can’t believe you didn’t pick up on that sooner.” He finally says, once his brain has stopped backfiring and can actually make coherent thoughts again.

Mark sighs - a large, harsh gust of breath that shrinks his chest once it’s finally out - and rests his hand on Ethan’s knee. “Thank fuck. Whew. Okay, glad that’s over with.” 

“Yeah, that’s enough sappiness for tonight,” Ethan agrees with a small laugh, placing his hand on top of Mark’s. “I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, 200-shot, range model air rifle, with a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time!” 

And with that, their brief bout of awkwardness is over and they get right back into the video.


	12. overworking

**12/12/2020**

Mark sighs, and pushes his chair away from the computer with a small groan. His joints pop when he stands, and he shifts his weight off his right leg to stretch it out and alleviate some of the sudden pain. 

Another day, another waste. 

His monitor falls asleep, and he stares at it with something bitter clawing its way out of his heart and into his throat. He’d spent _hours_ in front of it, yet yielded nothing. Almost no progress was made, and he was behind on all of the projects he’d taken on. 

That wasn’t even mentioning the sorry state of his social life. 

His phone flashes with a notification, and he takes the opportunity to check the time, wincing when he sees it’s well past midnight. It’s fine, he’s no stranger to sleepless nights. 

The light turns off, and left in an empty, cold room with an aching head and cramping fingers, he turns around and leaves. 

Unfortunately, his house is just as desolate as his workspace, doing nothing good for his mental state, and he ignores the ache in his stomach and dryness of his throat as he makes his way to the bedroom. 

He didn’t deserve food and water, anyway - not after the shoddy, half-finished products he had put out. When he made something better he’d actually have a reason to fuel his body. 

Slowly, so as not to wake Ethan or Amy, he cracks open the door and shuffles inside, keeping the doorknob twisted until the door closes, so there’s nothing more than a soft click. He’s used to this routine - has done it countless times over the course of his career, countless times this _week_. 

Neither of them stir when he crawls into bed on the far right side - a space they’ve left just for him so he doesn’t disturb them at insane hours of the night anymore - and a selfish little part of him kind of wishes they had. Kind of wishes they had woken up completely, maneuvered a little so he was in the middle, pressed against each of them as they talked over and around him and lulled him into his first peaceful sleep that month. 

But they hadn’t woken up, and that hadn’t happened, so he takes the little sliver of extra blanket that Ethan had kicked off and pulls it around himself, pretending the tension in the fabric is pressure from an arm slung over him and tries to drift off. 

It barely works - he falls asleep at two and his alarm is set for five - but it’s enough for now. It has to be.

The next morning is much the same. His alarm goes off, he wakes up quickly and turns it off so it can’t disturb the two beside him (they shift anyway, as they always do, but neither fully wakes up), and gets out of bed. Cold floors are the only things that greet him, and he slowly trudges out of his bedroom, picking up speed when he realizes he’s wasting valuable time by lolly-gagging. 

Even the dogs aren’t fully awake yet, he notes with a sad smile. He’s truly alone right now. 

His monitor turns on slowly with a small whir, filling the empty silence of the room, and he drums his fingers along the keys. Some of them are starting to fade - white letters slowly chipping away with each day - and he wishes it were from anything other than work. Wishes it was from messaging his friends (as if he truly had that many) too often, or playing games he personally enjoyed outside of his job. 

But it’s not, and he opens his most recent project with a creaky mouse and bitter resentment swirling around his head. 

Hours pass by before he finally lets himself check the clock - lets himself _breathe_. It’s almost eleven now, and he realizes with belated amusement that he’s been working pretty much non-stop for six hours. 

He still hasn’t touched on his most important project, though, so does it really count? 

Shifting around in his chair to allow himself to stretch only makes the severity of his headache more apparent, and he kicks back from his desk for the second time in 24 hours with a small hiss. He needs water, now, even if he doesn’t like the idea of getting up from his desk for more than a minute, so he stretches out his stiff muscles and leaves the room again. 

“There you are!” Amy cheers when he emerges in the kitchen. She’s still wearing her pajamas, so he feels marginally better about still being his, and he greets her with a small smile. 

Ethan leaves the coffee maker, extending out a fresh cup to him, and presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Where’ve you been, babe?” he murmurs, playful tone diluted with a little bit of concern. “We missed you!” 

Amy nods in agreement, but stays where she is, not wanting to overwhelm Mark. He appreciates the gesture, of course, but she’s a bit late for that. This is the most contact he’s had in a while - he’s already far past overwhelmed. 

Taking a sip of the still-too-hot coffee (he’s learned to deal with it - you don’t always have time to wait for it to cool down, after all), he blinks the computer-made dryness from his eyes and rumbles out a response. “Just been working. The usual.” 

His girlfriend clicks her tongue, and raises an eyebrow in distaste. “On? C’mon, don’t treat us like we’re your boring coworkers!” 

There’s a kernel of truth in the statement - he knows it, they know it - and he resents himself just a little bit more for that. 

“Uh, just… a sponsorship video. Nothing special.” It’s only one of the many, _many_ projects he needs to work on today, and he’s already so behind. The small urge to ramble on about what exactly he’s spending hours on, what’s causing him frustration and what was so easy it felt like breathing is crushed at the reminder, and he clams up again. “I should probably get back to it, actually.” 

The mug of (perfectly good) coffee meets the counter with a soft click, and he’s about to leave the room when Ethan wraps a loose hand around his wrist. 

“No, stay,” he begs. “You’ve been in there for hours, Mark. Just stay with us for a little bit.” 

And he wants to, so _badly_ , in fact, that the pain is almost tangible, almost swallows him up and eats him whole, but - 

“I’m not finished,” Mark says instead. “I - I’m _so_ behind, I would love to stay, but -”

Amy tilts her head, and steps to the other side of him to run a gentle hand down his arm. “I highly doubt that. You’ve been working for days - how would you be behind?” 

“I just _am_ , okay? I can’t. I can’t get anything right, I can’t make anything as good as it needs to be and I only have a few weeks to do all of these _things_ , and -”

Ethan swiftly cuts him off with a kiss, and his concerned expression mirrors Amy’s when he pulls back. “Hey, a few weeks is a _lot_ of time, honey. You’re not failing by not having something done two weeks before it’s due.” Mark flounders a little at that, because somehow Ethan hit the nail on the head with that thought. “And I’ve seen the shit you make - I’m sure you’re still producing things like that, if not better.” 

“But that’s the thing, I’m not! People have all of these expectations for me based on past projects and I’m - I’m not reaching _any_ of them -” 

“How do you know that?” Amy butts in. She sets her own coffee mug on the counter beside his, and moves to put her hands on her hips. “How do you know that you aren’t meeting arbitrary expectations? Has anyone else actually looked at these projects of yours?” 

And, no, they haven’t, but that really doesn’t matter. He’s perfectly capable of critiquing his own work, thank you very much.

Something on his face must reveal the answer (or maybe they just know him really well) because Ethan raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the same time Amy shakes her head with equal parts disappointment and amusement. 

“Mark, you know you’re your own harshest critic!” Ethan points out, literally, as he jabs at the older man’s chest. “You can’t accurately assess your work. And, before you say it, no, being a harsh critic isn’t always a good thing.” 

Mark’s mouth shuts with a soft _click_ , and he sheepishly looks at the wooden floor in front of him. 

When he doesn’t say anything for another minute or so, Amy claps her hands and grips his shoulders gently, steering him to the couch. “Good! I’m glad that’s settled, then,” she hums. 

The throw blanket is soft when she wraps it around him, and he snuggles into it, just a little. It’s even better when Amy slips in next to him, pulling her third of the blanket over her lap, and throwing the last third over to Ethan, who joins them on the other side of Mark. 

It’s like they read his mind, last night, when he was so desperate for touch he was cuddling a fucking duvet, and he lets himself lean back unto the gentle warmth, just a little. 

Ethan leans forward to grab the remote, and without consorting anyone navigates his way to the Grinch, sitting back as the opening title scene plays. It’s sweet - that he knows enough about Mark to know that a stupid movie he’s seen hundreds of times over and they’ve made countless references to is just what he needs - and he reaches over to hesitantly take his boyfriend’s hand in his. 

“Thanks,” he whispers to no one in particular, a previously-unnoticed tension seeping out from his shoulders and jaw as he watches a fuzzy green Jim Carrey eat glass. 

Amy simply rests her head on his shoulder in response, moving her hand so it rests on top of where Ethan and Mark’s are pressed together, and Mark thinks about how much he pities the Grinch for being so happy his heart shrunk a size and a half.

After all, where would he be without these two in his life? 

Sad, overworked, and curling up with a blanket to hide his loneliness, probably. 

Ethan must be able to tell he’s zoning out a little, because he leans over to press a chaste kiss to his jawline and direct his eyes to the screen. “I can practically hear you thinking,” he mumbles, eyebrows furrowed in mock disapproval. “Shut up and watch the movie.” 

So even though Mark wasn’t thinking about anything even remotely work-related, he lets out an amused huff and focuses back on the screen, tuning in just in time to see Baby Grinch smash his weird-ass angel. His work may be shit, but at least it wasn’t _that_ bad. 

Slowly, Ethan and Amy inch closer to him throughout the movie, until every part of him has contact with another person, and he lets himself relax just a little bit more. Just a smidge. 

If he falls asleep five minutes later, that’s nobody’s business but his own.


	13. stomachache

**12/15/2020 - 12/16/2020**

“Ow,” Mark hisses, clutching at his stomach with a grimace. “ _Ow_.” 

Ethan takes pity on him, and cards a gentle hand through the sweaty hairs on Mark’s forehead with a soft coo. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “you’ll be okay, baby. You’ll be okay.” 

Mark melts into the touch, practically headbutting Ethan’s hand, and opens his mouth in a silent groan. “Hurts,” he mumbles. 

“I know, I know.” Ethan pulls his boyfriend towards him, resting him against his chest, and runs a gentle hand down his arm. “When did you take the tylenol?” 

“Lil’ bit ago.” Mark tucks his head into the crook of Ethan’s neck, letting out a low whine. He shifts slightly, and presses his hand against his stomach once more. Ethan feels a hot flash of sympathy run through him - he feels _awful_ for the man in front of him, and he would give anything to take away his pain. “Think the liver damage’s worth another one?” 

He giggles, though it’s diluted by the seriousness in Mark’s tone. “Absolutely not.” 

“That’s fair.” He shifts again, jostling Ethan’s shoulder, and the younger man presses a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. “Uh - Do you think…” 

“What?” 

“Could you maybe make me some hot chocolate? Please?” Mark looks up at Ethan, eyes wide and pleading, and the guilt in his eyes makes Ethan’s heart melt. “You don’t have to -”

“Of course I will!” he quickly assures. “Gotta let me up now, though.” 

Grinning like a loon, Mark quickly complies, and scoots off of Ethan’s lap to take refuge against the arm of the couch. Ethan doesn’t miss the miniscule twitch of his fingers against the fabric, and he nearly says something, upset at the thought that Mark’s in more pain than he’s letting on - which already must be near-unimaginable if Ethan even knows about it. “Thank you, babe.” 

He presses a chaste kiss against his boyfriend’s cheek in lieu of response, and moves into the kitchen to prepare a mug of hot cocoa. 

When he comes back, two steaming mugs in hand, Mark slowly uncurls from the side of the couch - painstakingly smoothing over the pained expression Ethan wishes he had never seen. “Thanks,” he hisses, then clears his throat and tries again. “Uh - you want to watch a movie or something?” 

“Are you sure the tylenol’s working?” Ethan asks instead, dodging the question entirely and sitting next to Mark. “Because - if it’s too much that tylenol isn’t helping, maybe we should see a doctor?” 

“No - no doctors. The tylenol’s making it a little better, though. I’m gonna give it a little bit more. Elf sound good?” He gestures to the TV - a scene of Elf already playing on the title card - and Ethan sighs and nods. Maybe it’ll help distract Mark, after all. 

Smiling, the man clicks play, and rests back against the couch with his cup of cocoa cradled to his stomach. The way it’s pressed into his stomach is not lost on Ethan, and he vaguely wonders if the heating pad his mother gave him would help alleviate some of the pain. 

When the movie gets to a slow part - the introduction of Buddy’s love interest, specifically, because she may be gorgeous but fuck the hets - he gets up, carefully handing his near-empty cocoa to Mark and shuffling to the hallway closet to get the pad. He plugs it in when he gets back, leaning over his boyfriend to reach the outlet and getting a playful pat on the ass for his kindness, before sitting back and maneuvering it under the blankets and onto Mark’s stomach. 

“What -?” He pokes at the pad on him, before looking back at Ethan. “Why?” 

Shrugging, he takes his cocoa back and rubs his thumb over the seam of Mark’s sleeve. “Figured it’d help. Heating packs are usually good for stomach aches, right?”

“I guess.” Mark leans back into the couch again, hand running over the pad and pressing it down on his stomach. “Feels nice. Thank you.” 

Smiling at the far-too-sincere and guilty look Mark’s giving him, Ethan simply kisses his jaw to distract him from him stealing the remote, and resumes Elf. “Don’t thank me. You deserve it.” 

Mark stays silent at that, but his hand ghosts along Ethan’s own, so he knows his stupid, stubborn boyfriend has accepted that, yes, he does in fact deserve to be coddled right now. 

They don’t talk for a little bit after that - it’s a little weird, considering movie time with the two of them is usually filled with commentary that would be annoying coming from anyone else, but Ethan shrugs it off. Sometimes even they needed to bask in the quiet for a little bit. 

Eventually, Mark reaches across him to set his mug down on the end table, and Ethan knows that if he even offers to take it from him the man is going to add it to some long, imaginary list of things he “owes” him, so he watches with a mixture of amusement and concern as he struggles. “I could’ve helped, you know.” 

“Let me do one thing tonight, Eth,” Mark grumbles, confirming his suspicions. “You’ve done literally everything else.” 

“Because you’re in pain, dumbass. Stop worrying about whatever ‘how to get equal’ plan you have brewing and just let me take care of you. Sometimes we can just do things for each other.” 

Mark opens his mouth to say something more, but quickly closes it at the stern look Ethan gives him. When he opens it again, Ethan simply rolls his eyes and pulls Mark’s head down onto his lap with a playful sigh. 

“Let me spoil you, you jerk,” he hums, carding his hand through Mark’s hair. It’s gotten long - longer than it’s been in a while, and Ethan sets to work on braiding small pieces to make him look like a viking. “Just relax.” 

So he does, leaning more and more of his weight onto Ethan’s thighs until eventually he’s completely boneless, and laughing quietly at the antics Buddy is getting into on-screen. “Thank you. Love you.” 

“Love you too, bubs.”


	14. ugly sweater contest

**12/22/2020 - 12/23/2020**

“I’m definitely going to win this year,” Mark says, twisting around in the mirror. Tyler gives him an unimpressed eyebrow from the couch, and Mark lets out an offended gasp at the action. “Hey! I _am_ and you’re just jealous.” 

“Sure, dude,” Tyler hums, going back to his phone. “Your sweater isn’t even that ugly, anyway.” 

Scoffing, Mark drags himself away from the mirror and plops down on the couch next to his friend, sending a playful glare his way. “Like you’re one to talk, Mr. kittens farting rainbows!” 

The mere mention of it has Tyler cracking a small smile, and he looks down at the sweater again. It’s not _terrible_ \- but it sure is an eyesore. Bright, neon cats are dressed in santa hats with small pom-poms attached, riding (or farting, depending on who’s asking) rainbows splattered with glitter. Mark has to look away after only a second. 

“Change your mind?” Tyler jeers, elbowing Mark gently. “Didn’t look at it for long.” 

“That’s because I already know what’s on it,” he deflects, a little too quickly, looking back down at his own sweater. “Besides, mine’s _so much worse._ It has a dick!” 

“You know, slapping a dick onto every single thing you make doesn’t mean it’s automatically going to win -” his (very wrong, very stupid) point is cut off by someone knocking on the door, and Mark jumps up, rushing to answer it. 

Once he opens the door, Kathryn smiles up at him behind an armload of boxes, and he quickly steps aside to make room for her. “Hey! Hope you don’t mind - I brought some things for the party.” 

“Not at all!” He assures, trailing after her to the table. “Are there, by chance, any cookies in there?” 

“Mark! Stop pestering her about food!” Tyler chides from the other room, and Kathryn laughs.

“He’s right - you’ll get your fair share when everyone else does, mister.” She sets down a couple of plates, and Mark is delighted to see that there are, in fact, cookies. “Any idea when the others will get here?” 

“No clue - Amy said she was on her way fifteen minutes ago, and Ethan sent a picture of a raccoon in a car so I’m assuming that means he’s coming.” Kathryn snorts at that, and moves to put something that looks suspiciously like eggnog and ice cream in the fridge. 

“Knowing him, probably.” 

“Don’t you live with him?” Tyler calls from the other room, again, and this time it’s Kathryn’s turn to be playfully annoyed.

“Yeah, but we’re still two different people who leave at different times, Ty,” she tsks. She makes her way into the living room, and not having much else to do, Mark follows. 

They chat among themselves for a little bit - never once mentioning the sweaters, to Mark’s immeasurable disappointment - until a sharp knock on the door has him bolting up again. 

This time, it’s Amy _and_ Ethan who are on the other side of the door, and he greets them with a warm smile. “Guys! Hi! Did you bring food?” 

Blinking slowly, Amy shakes her head, and Ethan shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry, we only brought ourselves,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hope that’s enough.” 

“Of course it’s enough,” Mark assures, even though he knows it’s a joke. “Come on in, everyone else is here.” 

The next half-hour or so is spent just chatting and setting up, and though Mark is always happy to spend time with his friends, he feels a little miffed that no one’s paying attention to his sweater. “Alright! I think it’s time we start the ugly sweater party, guys!” 

Tyler groans at that, and Mark shoots him a playful glare. “Please just let Mark win,” he sighs, rubbing at the spot between his eyes. “He won’t shut up otherwise.”

“Hey! I take offense to that!” 

“You should.” 

“Boys,” Amy wisely interrupts, before the two can bicker much longer, “you’re both pretty and you’re both going to prom. Now let’s do the ugly sweater contest before Mark throws a temper-tantrum.” 

Grumbling, but still aware he’s getting his way, Mark can’t do much more than stand still as Tyler and Ethan shuffle over to him. There’s a moment of silence as Amy and Kathryn glance them over with a critical eye, and he huffs quietly. “So who wins?”

“I’m tempted to say Ethan the more you keep talking,” Amy retorts, and he quickly shuts up. 

A minute later, Kathryn nods her head, and she and Amy share a look before she begins talking. “Okay, I think we’ve come to a decision. It’s a tie.” 

Mark groans dramatically, and doesn’t stop until Ethan jabs an elbow into his side. “Geez, dude, chill out,” he says, and Mark’s about to be actually hurt until he sees that the younger man is smiling.

“It’s a tie between you and Ethan, moron,” Amy says. “Tyler lost ugly points with Kathryn because the cats are cute.” 

“Dangit,” Tyler hisses, prompting laughter from the rest of them. “I thought the glitter would’ve been a sure winner.” 

“Well, mine also has glitter,” Ethan points out, “so you’re not special.” Mark nods along with that, pointing at the glittery clouds on his own sweater, and Tyler lowers his head in shame.

Amy raises an eyebrow with a smile, clearly waiting for them to shut up, and continues. “It was going to be Mark, but he was being an asshole and we didn’t want him to have this, so you’re welcome Ethan.” 

The younger man shrugs and wraps an arm around Mark’s shoulder. “Hey, a win’s a win. Ain’t that right, markimoo?” 

Huffing playfully, Mark pulls away from him. “I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my boyfriend. How do you feel about yourself now, Ethan?” 

“Pretty good, actually.” He plants a sloppy kiss to Mark’s cheek, and pulls him back in. “Now come on, there are cookies to eat.”


	15. ice skating

**12/23/2020**

This was probably not the best idea he’s ever had, Ethan thinks, as he watches Mark fall on his ass for the fourth time in ten minutes. This probably could have been thought out a little more. 

“Fuck, dude,” the older man hisses as he waddles over to where Ethan’s standing, hand clutched at his hip like that will alleviate any of the pain. “You were right - I’m awful at this.” 

“You really are,” Ethan agrees, but the underlying concern in his tone and careful hands fluttering around Mark give the words a different meaning. “Are you actually okay? Like, not ‘masochist Mark’ okay, but _actually_ -?” 

Mark smiles at that, like the idea of getting hurt is _funny_ , and pushes away Ethan’s hands. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just sore.” He raises an eyebrow at Ethan’s expression, clearly daring the younger man to try and prove otherwise, and Ethan huffs. 

“Okay. But if you have to go to the hospital _again_ I swear to god I’m going to stuff these skates down your throat.” 

“Hot,” Mark quips, before immediately averting his eyes. 

Now that the immediate danger is over, Ethan’s reminded of the actual reason he brought them out here, and it feels a little bit like trying to ignore the looming jaws of some great nightmare monster right in front of him. 

Bad analogy, but he’s allowed to be a little dramatic when he and one of his best friends start having weird bouts of tension they’ve _never_ had before. 

“Uh, sure, if that’s what you’re into.” Ethan coughs awkwardly, and runs a hand through his hair. “Anyway - you need to stop stopping so aggressively. You’re putting too much weight onto your toes and then overcompensating by falling back.” 

Mark shoves his hands into his coat pockets, and looks back at him with a timid smile. “Okay Mr. Professional, let’s see what you can do, then.”

Ethan pales - he wasn’t expecting that, even though he knew Mark was one of the most competitive motherfuckers out there - and digs his toe into the ice. “Maybe - Maybe later? Like in July?” 

Mark laughs, and finally they’re back into a comfortable rhythm. Teasing banter he can do - flirtatious banter not so much. “I’m going to find an ice-skating rink that’s open in July _just_ to fulfill this bet, now.”

“And I’ll be spending those seven months practicing my ass off just to prove you wrong.” Not waiting for a response, he kicks off, falling into a slow glide, and laughs at the sound of Mark spluttering and huffing as he frantically step-skates to keep up with him. 

“Hey! That’s not fair - not all of us were gymnasts with impeccable balance!” 

“Maybe you should’ve tried harder then,” Ethan hums, but slows down nonetheless, waiting for Mark to clobber up to him. “Come on, it’s not that hard. If you need to, leaning forward a bit into a crouch helps.” 

Shaking his head, Mark stumbles to a stop beside him. “I’ve tried that - I still ate dirt.” 

Trying to figure out how to help a man who’s about as graceful on his feet as a newborn bird, Ethan spins slowly, sticking his tongue out at Mark when he complains. And then he gets an idea. A terrible, awful, no-good idea that definitely won’t help the whole reason they’re out here.

“Here,” he says, holding out his hand. “Take my hand and I’ll try and pull you along until you get the hang of it.” 

Mark chokes on his own spit and stumbles back a little, looking at the offending appendage like it had insulted his mother. “What? That’s - couple shit.” 

Ethan rolls his eyes and grabs at Mark’s hand, interlacing their fingers with a half-hearted glare. “Stop being a pussy - we’ve held hands before, dude.” 

“That was different,” Mark mumbles, averting his eyes again and raising the probability of Ethan screaming in frustration by at _least_ 20%. 

“How was it different?” 

Mark jerks his hand away, but Ethan holds steady and keeps their fingers intertwined. “Mark, how was it different?” he asks again, desperately trying to make eye-contact. If it’s what he thinks it is (hopes it is), he wants to be looking at the man.

“I - you can’t do this to me, Eth,” he says instead, squeezing their hands. “You know what I mean, but I - I can’t say it when I have no clue how you’re feeling. Please don’t pin this on me.” 

“It’s different for me, too,” Ethan starts, scared out of his mind but never one to dance around his feelings. “I want it to be different. Like, in a romantic sense.” 

It’s impossible to miss the relief on Mark’s face when Ethan’s watching it so intensely, and he smiles brightly at him. “Oh thank god,” he chuckles, “I really hoped I wasn’t reading too much into this. I feel the same way.” 

“Whew. So now can we stop being so damn awkward?” 

“Please.” They both laugh at that, and Mark tugs gently on Ethan’s hand. “So are you going to show me how to skate or what?” It’s an unspoken question - an offer to talk about all of _this_ later, and Ethan nods gratefully. 

“As long as you promise not to give me a heart attack everytime you fall.” 

“Like I can control that.” 

Smiling to himself at the unintentional innuendo, Ethan just kicks off again, pulling Mark along slightly behind him. “True - you should focus on controlling your skates, first.”


	16. hallmark i'm coming for your brand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm Going to steal all of the jobs at hallmark since i am so very clearly skilled at writing hallmark movies /j

**12/19/2020 - 12/20/2020**

Mark curses, his leg jumping up and down like a caffeinated squirrel as he thumbs through his contact list. He's got to be here somewhere - he can't lose Ethan.

The cabbie shoots him a look through the rearview mirror, but he pays him no kind as he frantically searches for Ethan's phone number. Finally, _finally_ , he finds it, and in his haste to call the boy he accidentally presses his mother's contact.

"Hello?" She answers, before he can end the call. "What do you want?"

Not having time for this in the typically hour-long car ride, he ushers out a quick "nothing mom!" and ends the call for real. Once the screen closes, he presses Ethan's contact this time, stomach falling to the floor when the line immediately clicks dead.

"Not gonna have much luck with that," the cab driver comments, now inexplicably sucking on a candy cane Mark's sure he didn't have before. "Phone lines are all down from that mysterious storm last night."

Cursing quietly, Mark turns off his phone and resists the urge to throw it out the window. How was he going to reach Ethan before he left now?

Noticing his sorry state, the cabbie hums, and drums his fingers on the wheel. "You know, I do know a shortcut to the airport."

Mark's head immediately snaps up. "You do?"

"Yeah, I'd be willing to take you. It is Christmas after all." He winks at Mark, and not knowing how to feel about that or how to even respond when a stranger winks, Mark simply nods.

"That - that would be great, thank you so much!" The other man simply grunts, reminding Mark a little bit of a grandpa, and turns onto a backroad he swears he's never seen before.   
"Bit unconventional?"

The cab driver grunts again. "Trust me, we'll get there in time for you to see your man."

"What? How did you - ?"

He's cut off by the wink the older man gives him, all playfully knowing and twinkling in a way humans ought not to twinkle. "Christmas is a magical time of year, son."

Humming, Mark leans back in his seat and fiddles with his phone again. He'll probably figure out what that means later.

A few minutes later, they pull up to the airport, and Mark jumps out of the car. "Wow! That was an extremely fast shortcut! How can I repay you?"

"Don't worry about it," the man winks, again, "knowing I helped two lovebirds out is payment enough during Christmas. Now go get your man!"

Not wasting a second more, he nods, and dashes off into the airport.

It's extremely full, for Christmas day, Mark notes as he dodges people and suitcases - there should not be this many people here. He accidentally shoulder-checks someone, and winces as the man shoves past him. Tough crowd.

"Please!" He cries, gently pushing through a couple families, "I need to get through! My - friend, he's about to board a plane, and -"

A particularly brutal shove has him turned around, and he ends up near the ticket gate. Right - he's going to need a ticket to get through boarding at all.

Completely skipping a large portion of the line when they find out he has a romantic ordeal waiting on the other side of the airport, he rushes up to the employee, slapping down his credit card on the counter. He'll have time to regret how rude that was later.

"Please, give me anything - anything works. I need to get through security to stop Eth - my friend from leaving. He can't leave, please."

The woman raises an eyebrow, but punches something into her computer anyway. "Sorry sir, we're all booked."

"No!" He howls. "I need to get through! My friend, I -"

Suddenly, the old cabbie pushes past him, and glances at the computer with a sly grin. "Fancy seeing you here," he hums.

"You drove me here -"

"Have a good Christmas! Hope you see this Ethan of yours!" And with that, he's gone again, leaving behind a small notification noise from the computer.

"Good news! A seat just opened up - its headed for Dallas, Texas. Is that - ?"

"I'll take it," he interrupts, "I just need to get through!"

She raises her eyebrows again, but hands him a ticket anyway. "Have a good -"

He rushes off through the rest of check in before she can finish, bypassing everything else to get to security. If he's remembering correctly, Ethan said he was flying to Dallas, which is _great_ news for him.

Once he's through security - which takes an unbelievably short five minutes considering the crowd downstairs, it’s so fast he doubts he went through it at all, in fact - he books it to his gate.

Belatedly, he realizes he doesn't even know what flight Ethan's getting on, and hopes his memory doesn't fail him  
now. Footsteps echoing on the alarmingly white tile floor, Mark rushes to his gate. 

And there he is. Ethan’s standing there, ticket and suitcase in hand, and is the only one who hasn’t turned to see who the hell is running like a mad man in the airport. He’s about to hand his ticket to the attendant, and Mark shouts before he can stop himself. “Ethan!”

“Mark?” Ethan whispers, so soft only Mark can hear it over the couple yards and sea of people that separate them, “What are you doing here?” 

“Stopping you from making a decision I know you’ll regret.” He rushes forward, tripping and stumbling over abandoned luggage and children, and finally comes to stand in front of Ethan. “You can’t leave, Eth! We all need you here!” 

Instead of the watery smile and teary confession he’s expecting, Ethan just shuffles backwards, shaking his head slowly. “No - no, I _can’t_ , Mark… You know I have the business.” 

“Fuck the business! I know LA is a small town, but it’s your _home!_ Everyone here needs you.” He reaches out for his friend, and gently tugs on the sleeve of his turtleneck sweater. “I need you…” 

“Mark?” Ethan asks, cautiously, cupping his hand over the one on his sleeve. “Are you -?” 

“I love you, Ethan. And I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again. You can’t leave me.” Turning away from his boy, he looks out at the audience and addresses them. “I love him! And I was so _stupid_ to think I could live without him!” 

Ethan whispers his name again, like it’s the only thing he can say, and Mark decides that he really can’t live without this boy. “To hell with it,” he mutters, dropping to one knee. “It’s about time I said this, anyway.” 

The ring is cool in his hand when he pulls it out of his pocket, and he glances over the intricate carving on the black and white band. How lucky was he that they managed to stop by a ring shop that made completely customizable jewelry in fifteen minutes on the cab ride over here? “Ethan Mark Nestor-Darling, will you do me the honors of becoming Mr. Ethan Mark Nestor-Darling-Fischbach?” 

“That’s a lot of last names,” Ethan mutters, but his hand inches towards the ring anyway. He’s about to nod, Mark can see it in the telltale forward twitch of his head, but then he pulls back abruptly. “Mark, I need to tell you something.”

A flash of anxiety curls around his heart, but he gestures for Ethan to go ahead. “What is it?” 

“I’m - I’m not who I said I am,” he starts, tugging on his unoccupied sleeve because Mark is still holding onto his other one. “I’m - I’m not a businessman from some big city. I’m a businessman from a small city. A colder one.” 

Mark tilts his head, because what the _fuck_ does that even mean, and why does Ethan think it matters _now_ , when he’s kneeling on the gross airport floor surrounded by people, but stays quiet.   
“You’ve probably heard of it before,” Ethan goads, pulling out a snow globe from his pocket. “Everyone’s heard of it before. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Glancing over at the snow globe, Mark realizes it’s the one that’s always been in the background of every interaction of theirs - whether it was sitting on a table or even in Ethan’s hands - and always lit up like a side quest in any rpg video game ever. He’s never noticed the importance before now. “No. If you’re talking about New York or something I don’t think that classifies as a small city -”

Ethan laughs in a weird mixture of frustration and nerves he’s never seen before, and twists the snow globe around to show Mark the inscription on the back. “No, Mark! I’m from the North Pole!” 

And, sure enough, bright as day the words “North Pole” glean back up at him from the brassy plaque. “ _No_ ,” he whispers, unable to believe it, even though all the evidence he needs is right in front of him.

“Yes.” Ethan glances down at the glass globe, a fond smile flickering on his face. “I’m secretly the son of the big man himself. I just could never tell you because we were always surrounded by people before, every second of every day.” 

Still in a state of shock, Mark runs a hand through his hair. “Oh, wow, so does that mean -” 

Reading his mind, Ethan nods solemnly. “Yes. I’m going to become the next Santa Claus. My dad sent me down here to this very small town to teach me the true spirit of Christmas before I did… And you did, Mark! You’ve made me realize what the holiday is all about.” Just like Mark did earlier, Ethan turns away from the man in front of him and addresses their audience waiting to board. “It’s not about _gifts_ , or money! It’s about helping others, and being generous. It’s about _love_.” He turns back to Mark with a fond smile, and cups his cheek. “It’s about love,” he repeats, in a whisper, this time just for _his_ love. 

Having nothing to say to that, and knowing Ethan has more to his little speech but needs a moment for the words to _truly_ have an impact on the audience, Mark simply stays quiet.  
“I… I needed you to know, before...” He pats Mark’s hand - the one still holding the ring, and the older man is suddenly reminded of why he’s here in the first place. “Do you still want me, now that you know?” 

“Yes, of course! I’ll always want you, Eth. Why do you think I ran out here?” He chuckles, like he hadn’t probably broken numerous laws, and jerks the ring towards Ethan again. “So, what do you say? Mr. and Mrs. Claus?” 

Ethan giggles wetly, and a single tear falls down his cheek. “Yes, Mark. Mr. and Mrs. Claus.” 

The ring fits perfectly on his hand, and he picks up and spins his fiancée around in pure joy when he finally stands up again. Everyone claps.


	17. mistletoe

**12/13/2020**

The mistletoe was supposed to be a little joke. It was supposed to be just a fun little tradition to put up around Christmas, maybe make a joke or two about it, use it as an excuse to pull Amy in by her waist for a deliriously sappy kiss. 

It was not supposed to end up like this. 

Ethan came over that day, bearing Spencer and takeout, as usual, and everything was going fine. They ate together, put a movie on for background noise while they fucked around with whatever, fiddled around with various equipment, and just overall had a normal, totally platonic day. 

And then somehow they managed to walk under the mistletoe at the same time with an entirely-too-smug Amy refusing to let them pass. 

“It’s a mistletoe, guys!” she jeers, putting her hands on her hips for added effect. “You’re supposed to kiss! It’s tradition!” 

Ethan flounders at that, luckily completely oblivious to the blush quickly spreading across Mark’s face. “Amy - what? He’s literally _your_ boyfriend.” 

“Could be yours, too,” she counters. “Polyamory exists, Ethan.” 

Mark glares at her as much as he _can_ glare at Amy, and crosses his arms. “One kiss does not mean dating, Ames.” 

“Wait, no, let's go back to the part where she implied that she wants us to date -?” 

Amy cuts Ethan off with a sharp grin, looking directly at Mark and poking at the one thing she can use against him right now. “Aw, but you want it to, don’t you?” 

Growing more flustered by the second, Mark squeaks, and shifts his stance so he’s slightly curling into himself like a vulnerable animal. It’s clear to anyone who’s paying attention to him that he’s getting defensive, but luckily the only person who is is Amy, and she already knows.

Ethan huffs, and glances back and forth between them like he has been this whole encounter. He’s cute when he’s angry, Mark distantly notes, and then immediately kicks himself for noticing something like that right now. “Want it to _what?_ Are either of you going to actually answer me, or…?” 

“Want kissing to lead to dating. Keep up, Eef.” Amy hums. She glances betweethem when no one responds, and then up at the god forsaken plant Mark wishes he had never hung in the first place. “Well? Are you two going to stop being _cowards?_ ” 

“I’m not kissing Ethan,” Mark asserts, dodging the whole “you totally want to kiss Ethan” spiel his girlfriend (and his own mind, the traitor) is going on. “It’s just a stupid tradition no one follows, anyway.” 

Ethan glances at him funny, and Mark’s paranoid brain convinces him it’s because he knows Mark’s dodging the elephant in the room for a reason. “Yeah - I mean, did you kiss your parents under it?” 

All three of them scrunch their noses in various states of distaste at the implications of _that_ , and Amy scoffs. “No, but good thing you two aren’t family, then.” 

Not even trying to justify that with a response, Mark just huffs, and he glances back up at the mistletoe. “C’mon, just let us walk by, Ames.” 

“Not ‘till you follow tradition, Mark.” 

Ethan groans and leans back against the doorway with a soft _thump_. “Let’s just do it, then.” 

“ _What?_ ” Mark nearly shouts. The two other people standing mere feet from him wince, and he lowers his voice. “No - we can’t! We can’t give in _now_ -!” 

“Why not? Amy clearly won’t let us pass until we do.” 

“It’s the principle of the thing!” His voice is definitely higher-pitched than it was two minutes ago, and he rubs his suddenly-sweaty hands on his jeans. “We can’t let her boss us around like this!” 

“I have been for a year,” Amy butts in. 

“Okay, yeah, but - still! Ethan, we can’t let her win!” 

“Mark, I need to fucking piss. I don’t have time for your weird competitive streak. Just kiss me, dude - what’s the problem?” He giggles a little, flickering his eyes over Mark’s body in a way that makes him squirm. “It’s not like you have a secret crush on me that this would totally reveal or anything, right?” 

The words are innocent enough, but. There’s something _off_ about Ethan’s voice. Just a little too sharp - a little too _knowing_. 

“No, of course not! Besides, I have a girlfriend,” Mark quickly defends, ignoring Amy’s grumbled “polyamory, guys,” and stepping closer to Ethan. “But if you’re so desperate for me to kiss you, then I guess I have to!” 

“I guess you do!” Ethan shoots back, grabbing Mark’s jaw. They’re so caught up in themselves and their petty argument that they don’t notice Amy silently giggling and pointing her phone at them. 

The confirmation is all Mark needs before he’s moving forward, awkwardly bumping his nose into Ethan’s before repositioning and mashing their lips together with all the grace of a dog lunging for a bone. 

They break away a second later, but the silence doesn’t last long before Ethan says “that was bad, we need to do it over.” 

“Oh my fucking god.” They both look over at Amy, who’s annoyed face is diluted by the smile spreading across her face. “Oh my god, you two are hopeless. Keep going.” 

So they do. And then they decide _that_ one was bad, so they do it over, except a little longer this time. 

Mark’s lost count of how many times they’ve done a “do-over” when Amy finally breaks them apart. “Jeez, guys, I didn’t know you were going to make out!”

“Make out?” Ethan squawks, arms flailing. “ _You_ forced us to do it!” Mark, still a little light-headed from the act of actually kissing the man he’s been pining over for months now - _multiple times_ \- simply nods in agreement, touching the cold spot on his jaw from where Ethan grabbed it dazedly. 

Amy raises an unimpressed eyebrow and crosses her arms over her stomach. “Ethan. Ethan, look behind you.” 

So Ethan does, and then stops completely, a bright flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. Curious as to what’s causing the pretty red on his face, Mark turns around, too, not quite getting it in his dazed state until Ethan takes a step forward and lets out a groan. 

Doorways have two openings. Amy was only standing in one of them. 

“Not to mention the fact that I’m one person standing in a doorway easily made for four. You could have walked past me if you wanted,” she adds, not at all helpfully. “But I’m betting you didn’t.” 

A tense silence falls between the two boys as they process the words, until Ethan clears his throat. “Uh, she’s right, you know,” he murmurs, and Amy takes her cue to leave the crash site. “I… Didn’t really want to leave.” 

The relief that washes over Mark is instantaneous, and he smiles shyly at his friend. “Whew, I am _so_ glad you said that, man. I thought this would have to be a little ‘no homo’ skeleton in our closet forever.” 

Ethan giggles at that, mumbling the word “closet” under his breath, and leans back against the doorway. None of the tension from when he did the same thing before is there, and Mark mirrors the act on the other wall. “So… we should probably talk about that.” 

Groaning, Mark runs a hand through his hair. “Do we have to right now? That last kiss was pretty awful - I think we need a do-over.” 

And, like the saint he is, Ethan simply pulls him under the mistletoe again, kissing him for the nth time this night. Except this time, it’s soft, and tender. Not the playful fighting of before. 

Mark melts into it, and rests his hands on Ethan’s shoulders, reveling in the warmth of another body pressed against his. 

Sure, this wasn’t how the mistletoe was _supposed_ to go, but he’s damn glad it did.


	18. ornaments

**12/21/2020 - 12/22/2020**

“Oh my god,” Ethan giggles, pulling up a dingy, warped star ornament. “When is this from?”   
Mark laughs, too, because the thing really does look like it needed to be tossed ages ago, and gently takes it out of his hands. “Sixth grade, maybe? The only reason I’m keeping it is because my mom gets mad if I don’t.” He cradles it, thumb rubbing over the mostly-gone glitter and thinking back to when he made it. 

Strange how long it had survived, considering he hated every second of cutting out his mini yearbook photo and gluing it onto the paper. 

“She really does,” Amy adds, craning over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the ornament. “Calls every Christmas just to make sure it’s on the tree.” 

Ethan’s eyebrows raise, and he sets down the next ornament he had picked up with a disbelieving laugh. “Really? No way.” 

“Just wait for tomorrow, then - you’ll see. She’ll try and look around me through the phone to see it, and then ask if she can look at the lights on our tree like we don’t know what she’s doing. It’s great.” Mark smiles as he says it, fake annoyance crumbling when he looks back at the star, and he shuffles over to the tree to hang it up somewhere noticeable. “I’ll go easy on her this year. Put it front and center.” 

Ethan swats at his bicep, fluttering his eyelashes ridiculously, and Mark already knows what’s going to happen. Already knows he’s going to make some stupid joke about going soft, knows he’s going to whine his name like he always does, knows Amy is going to chime in with a smug smirk and added bit of ammo, and knows he’s going to let them like the whipped fool he is. 

He’s right, of course, and Ethan only stops pestering him when another ornament catches his eye. 

“Woah!” he gasps, the glass object cradled gently in his palms. “This one’s cool!” 

Mark glances over to see which one he’s holding, and he smiles fondly when he recognizes it. “Amy and I got that on our anniversary,” he hums, turning it over to show the little engraved “A” and “M” on the top. “It’s sappy as hell, but Amy likes it, so we keep it around.” 

“Please,” she snorts, delicately taking the ornament from Ethan’s hands, “you’re the one who bought it. Don’t try to pass your simp behavior onto me.” 

Ethan smiles, but it’s tenser than before. There’s a far away look in his eye, and he pulls away from them, subtle enough most people wouldn’t notice. 

Mark’s seen it before, though - he does it every time he and Amy accidentally leave him out, start talking a little too much about how their relationship was before Ethan joined - and he can’t help but feel like they’re making him feel unwanted. 

So he decides, fuck it, there’s no greater time than the present, and goes to grab the box he had stashed in their bedroom. 

“You know, I was planning on giving you this on Christmas,” he muses, coming back into the room and handing the small box to Ethan, “but since we’re decorating the tree now, I figured you could open it a little early.” 

Tilting his head at the sudden change in topic, Ethan takes the box gingerly, picking at the bow on top. It leaves glitter on his hands, and Amy laughs at the way his face scrunches up when he wipes it on his jeans. “Glitter. Lovely.” 

“It was the only bow they had,” Mark explains. He can’t help but agree, though - glitter is awful. “You should be able to just slide it off.”

No longer worried about trying to untie the knot, Ethan quickly slips off the ribbon and tears open the wrapping paper, staring at the box with interest. “This looks like a jewelry box.” He looks to Mark for confirmation, but the older man says nothing and gives the box a pointed look, so Ethan works on getting the lid off. 

“Woah…” The ornament shines dully in the warm lighting from the tree, and Ethan slowly spins it around, taking in the glass prism. “This is beautiful! And look - it makes a little rainbow!” 

Amy shuffles closer in interest, glancing over the ornament as well. She had been there when Mark picked it out, of course, but hadn’t actually seen the finished product yet. Noticing her, Ethan tilts the prism towards her, and smiles as the rainbow pattern moves across the floor. 

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet! Look at the bottom - there’s something there,” Mark says, pointing to the little pendant dangling from the glass. Giddy with excitement, Ethan quickly snatches up the small disk, angling it so that he can read it. 

“Memento Caritate. Remember love.” Ethan pauses, and then reads ahead. “Hey, that’s - that’s _our_ anniversary. Like all three of us!” 

“Yeah,” Amy laughs, resting a hand on his thigh. “We felt like it was time for an update.” 

“And you chose to put ‘memento caritate’ on it?” Embarrassed, Mark blushes as Ethan looks at him and ducks his head. 

“Listen - I thought it’d fit, with Unus Annus and everything -”

Ethan cuts him off with a quick kiss. “It’s horrifically sappy. I love it.” Beaming, he stands up and places it on the tree, angling it so that it’d get the most sunlight from the window that it could. “And it has a rainbow, that’s pretty fuckin’ pog dude.” 

Amy groans at the same time Mark laughs, and levels Ethan with a very serious stare. “Please do not ever call anything 'pog' again.” 

“Well that’s not very pog of you, Amy!” he whines. Unfortunately for him, it only forces her to pull him down to the ground and halfway into her lap, and he quickly forgets the reason he was pretending to be upset in the first place. 

Looking between them, Mark lets a fond smile slip onto his face. He loves these idiots.


	19. drive

**12/23/2020**

“So when do you think we’ll get there?” Mark asks, toying with the mirror inside of the sun visor. He squinted angrily at his reflection, and then smoothed out his expression and puckered his lips into a fish face. 

“Just a couple more hours,” Ethan assures, bringing his eyes back to the road. “Do we need to stop?” Mark had been getting slowly antsier over the past couple hours in the car, and while the brief stops at gas stations or fast food places helped, Mark being so wound up was starting to rub off on him. 

“No. Maybe? I don’t know.” He slammed the visor shut, and winced when Ethan glared at him. “Sorry. I just - _ugh_.” 

Recognizing that Mark was understimulated, Ethan hummed sympathetically. It was always so frustrating - being too bored to even _think_ \- and he felt bad for the man. “There’s stim toys in the pink bag back there, if you want one,” he offered, jerking his thumb to point at the backseat. 

Mark whines at not having an instant solution, but twists around and grabs for the bag nonetheless. It makes a weird crunching noise when he drags it over the center console, and he pauses momentarily, eyes widening comically. 

“It’s fine, I don’t really care if anything in there breaks,” Ethan assures. “It’s all pretty cheap anyway.” 

Nodding slowly, Mark pulls the bag the rest of the way through, jerking slightly when the tension suddenly releases and the bag falls into his lap. He digs through it with fervor, as though it will permanently cure his boredom, and Ethan doesn’t have the heart to break it to him that it’ll only provide background stimulation for him to do something _else_ , too. 

“We could stop here for the night,” he suggests. “It’s nearly six - we could get a motel room and then just get up early tomorrow.” 

Fiddling with a spinny ring thing, Mark shakes his head and looks out the window. “Nah, I know you hate waking up before seven. I’ll be fine, babe.” There’s a loud clanging as the ring flies out of his hands and hits the energy drink in the cupholder, and he winces. “Bad timing.” 

Ethan chuckles as his boyfriend digs around the void between the console and seat for the toy, and drums his fingers idly on the steering wheel. “Alright, then. But you gotta stop fidgeting so much - you’re rubbing off on me.” 

Sitting upright with a triumphant smile and ring in his hand, Mark nods, and digs through the bag again. “Yeah, I noticed. I’m sorry - didn’t get a chance to workout this morning.” 

“It’s fine. Just let me know if we do need to pull over, yeah?” 

“I will.” He pulls out a rubik's cube, and twists it around a couple times. “Do you know how to speedcube?” 

Ethan does, of course, even if he doesn’t do it often because his fingers aren’t quite nimble enough for it, but he shakes his head. “I’m driving right now, dude. Why don’t you look it up? Give yourself something to do.” 

Mark shrugs, and half-heartedly pulls out his phone and headphones to start watching a youtube tutorial. Feeling a little bad he can’t offer any other comfort, Ethan reaches over and rests a hand on his thigh, squeezing it lightly. “We’ll be at my parents house soon, I promise. This will all be worth it when you have some of my mom’s pie.” 

Pausing his tutorial, Mark laughs, and bumps his knee up against Ethan’s hand. “Yeah, I can’t wait to hear about all of the embarrassing childhood stories I’m sure your mom has.” 

“Oh, god, don’t remind me.” 

They fall into silence again, the only sound in the car being the quiet whine of the engine and soft clicks coming from Mark’s rubik’s cube, and Ethan hums a nonsense tune to keep himself company. 

Eventually, the rubik’s cube starts slowing and starting in odd patterns, and Ethan looks over to see Mark nodding off, waking up every few seconds to try and finish following the tutorial. Laughing quietly, he reaches over to take the phone and cube from Mark’s hands, depositing them gently onto the center console. 

“Wha…?” Mark mumbles, groping around in the air for a moment, uncomprehending of why his hands are empty. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Shh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep.” Ethan turns onto the nearest exit, and replaces his hand on Mark’s thigh once more. He had noticed the man getting tired earlier, so him falling asleep now wasn’t completely unexpected. “We’ll be at a motel soon.” 

Nodding slowly, Mark rests his head against the window and places a clumsy hand over Ethan’s own. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep well last night - nightmare.” 

“That’s okay,” he assures, thumb beginning to rub small circles onto Mark’s knee. “I understand, bubs. Go back to sleep.” 

“Yeah. Love you.” Struggling not to laugh at how delirious his boyfriend sounds when he’s half-asleep, Ethan just nods and returns the affection, squeezing his knee gently.


	20. baby it's cold outside

**12/18/2020**

“I really can’t stay,” Ethan says, thumb running over the seam of his coat. “It’s getting late.” 

Mark gently takes the offending item of clothing from him and throws it on the chair at the other side of the room. They both share a quiet giggle when it slides to the floor. “It’s cold outside - at least stay a little longer.” His hand wraps around Ethan’s waist, and he pulls the younger boy to his chest. “You’ll freeze out there, baby.” 

The offer to stay there, curled into Mark’s side instead of braving the biting wind of outside, was tempting, but Ethan shakes his head. “No, I need to get going. I’ve had so much fun tonight, but -”

“But? Come on, going home now isn’t worth the hypothermia.” He runs his thumb over Ethan’s hands, the warmth making them tremble as though to prove a point. “Stay here - just for tonight.” 

Ethan flips his hands over to intertwine them with Mark’s, and brings one of them up to his mouth to press a chaste kiss to the back of his hand. “Kathryn’ll worry, though. What will she think of me not coming home? Coming back at this time is already a little sus…”

“Sus?” Mark rests his head on Ethan’s shoulder, eyes craning upward to look at him with a fond smile. His scruff scratches along the younger man’s jaw, and he quietly giggles at the sensation. It’s probably pretty painful, to strain his eyes like that, but Ethan knows whatever teasing he’s about to endure makes up for it tenfold. “You’ve been playing too much among us.” 

“Okay, that’s fair actually,” he concedes. The heater kicks on in the background, and Ethan’s eyes dart to it. Fuck, if he does leave he’s going to have to abandon this cocoon of warmth he’s built around himself, and won’t that be a damn shame? 

Mark’s eyes follow his, and a small smile stretches across his face. “It’s so cold out there, Ethan. It’s _so_ cold - like, deadly cold. I’m just saying you should stay here for safety. Come on, let me get you some eggnog or something.” 

“Mark -” Ethan starts to protest, but his boyfriend’s arms tighten around his waist, and he relaxes against the touch. “Okay… maybe just a half a drink more.” 

Grinning like a loon, Mark scoots out from under him, and bustles to the kitchen to prepare a mug of warm eggnog. Belatedly, Ethan realizes it’s probably the same eggnog they had spiked earlier, meaning he wouldn’t want to drive for a bit, but Mark comes back with a mug before he can regret his choice and Ethan takes a sip of the overly-thick beverage. “There’s alcohol in this.” 

“What a shame,” Mark retorts. “I’m not sure there are any drivers that can get in this community, anyway, seeing as it’s gated and all.” 

It’s a lie and they both know it, but Ethan doesn’t comment. “I wish I knew how to say no to you,” he grumbles instead, taking another sip of the eggnog. “You’d be a very good cult leader.” 

“You look great when you’re pretending to be angry.” Mark swipes a lock of hair off his forehead, and pulls a corner of the blanket up around his shoulders. “You get this little twinkle in your eye.” 

“Thank you,” Ethan hums, a gentle smile breaking his hesitant façade. “But I really ought to go -” 

He’s cut off by a thumb swiping across his cheekbone, and he glances up at Mark, who’s suddenly closer than before. “In just a second,” he murmurs, eyes flickering down to Ethan’s lips in a question. Not trusting his voice, the younger man simply nods, and leans forward just a little more. 

When they break apart, Ethan scoots closer to Mark, tossing the remaining parts of his blanket over his partner and cuddling closer to him. “Well, at least I’m going to say that I _tried_ to go. Not my fault you’re, like, part of the illuminati or something.” 

“You wound me,” Mark teases, pressing another kiss against his jaw. “Are you staying?” 

“For a little bit,” Ethan hums. “You’re very pushy.” 

“I like to think of it as being opportunistic.” 

Giggling, Ethan presses against his boyfriend, reveling in the warm pressure of another person curled into him. “I should get going soon, though.” 

“And freeze?” The heater hums again, kicking back on, and Mark wraps an admittedly very warm and comfortable arm around his shoulders. “It’s really fuckin’ cold out - look, it’s snowing!” 

Foolishly, Ethan whips his head around to look out of the window, only to stop when he realizes that there is not, in fact, any snow, and there likely won’t be any snow anytime soon seeing as it hasn’t snowed in LA in decades. “Fuck you.” 

“Hey, you believed it enough to look! Obviously you know it’s cold out.” 

Side-stepping the idiocy that just spilled from his partner’s mouth so he can pretend he’s not in love with a moron, Ethan picks at the blanket and checks the time on his phone. “I’m supposed to pick up Andrew tomorrow - he’ll be a little suspicious if I get him looking tired as hell and wearing your clothes.” 

Mark blushes a little at the innuendo, but quickly schools his expression and flashes Ethan a sly wink and a smile. “Well that’s assuming a lot, but if you want -”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ and you know it," Ethan laughs. "Still, you’re proving my point. He’s gonna think…” He trails off, face reddening at the mere thought of how mercilessly his brother would mock him for that one, even if it was all light-hearted. “You know.” 

“Sucks for you, I guess,” Mark teases. His eyes flicker down to Ethan’s mouth again, and the younger man takes another sip of his eggnog to distract himself from the warm butterflies fluttering around his chest. “You look amazing right now. He can deal.” 

“He’ll probably call my mom on me,” Ethan counters, but he knows it’s a weak argument considering he’s leaning forward, too. “My dad won’t shut up about it…”

“Then let him talk.” They kiss for the second time that night, and when Ethan pulls back he notes that his resolve is significantly weaker than before. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Maybe I’ll stay a _little_ longer,” he suggests, “just enough for another drink.” Wincing, he pulls back slightly, mirroring Mark’s confused expression. “Wait - not. Not actually. I don’t want any more eggnog.” 

“Guess you’ll have to stay a while, then. Gonna take you a bit to finish a mug of eggnog you won’t drink,” Mark teases. 

“I’m leaving just for that,” Ethan grumbles, playfully pushing away from Mark’s side. “Asshole, I don’t have to put up with this. I can’t believe you would tease me for a dumbass thing I said.” 

“Aw, don’t be a baby.” Mark grabs at his hands again, cupping them in his own larger, warmer palms and running his thumbs over the younger man’s knuckles. “You can’t go out in that cold if you can’t handle a little teasing.” He presses a kiss to Ethan’s wrist, just to make sure his boyfriend knows he’s only teasing, and continues on with a pout. “How could you leave me?” 

“People are going to talk tomorrow,” Ethan says, thinking about Kathryn and his plan to eat breakfast together while their apartment was still relatively quiet. “Kathryn might call the cops on me, like I’m some runaway kid.” They both know it’s not true, that she would _never_ , so long as Ethan texts her, but for the sake of this playful argument that Ethan’s already planning on losing neither mentions it. 

“Think about how _I’d_ feel,” Mark whines instead. He’s still pouting, of course, and Ethan gently presses a kiss to his forehead. “All alone for the night!”

“There’re going to be a lot of rumors if someone sees me leaving the house tomorrow in your clothes to pick up my brother.” 

“Alone for the rest of my life, maybe, if you get pneumonia or some shit because you’re too stubborn to stay inside and _die_ -” 

“I’m not going to fucking die, it’s barely 54 outside -”

“But how do you _know_?” 

Ethan turns to fix his boyfriend with an unamused glare, and blinks slowly. “I grew up in fucking _Maine_ , Mark.” 

Shocked to silence, Mark flushes an embarrassed red and turns away from Ethan with a small “oh, yeah.” He shuffles under the blanket, and then faces Ethan again. “But I’ll miss you.” 

And the look he gives him is so pitiful that it tugs at Ethan’s heartstrings and he finds it impossible to say no. Not that he wanted to, anyway - the whole night he’s been desperately aching to stay there, curled up with his partner and maybe the dogs if they were feeling amicable, and only saying no in the way you keep muttering about a diet while your hand is in the cookie jar. “Okay,” he finally whispers. “Okay, I’ll stay tonight. But you’re driving me to the airport.” 

“Sounds like a good deal,” Mark rumbles, and pulls Ethan even closer to his chest. “Might make your family talk even more, though.” 

Deciding he really doesn’t care now that he’s pressed against Mark and surrounded by a pleasant bubble of warmth, Ethan simply kisses his partner slowly, giving a little shrug and shy smile when he pulls away. “Let them, then.” 

And with that, they’re free to enjoy the rest of their night together. Even if it means non-stop teasing in the morning from friends and relatives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i know this song is controversial, so here's a little disclaimer: Ethan's not being coerced or anything. He wants to stay, he just probably Shouldn't, hence all the excuses and stuff. Like when you know you Should sleep, but you rationalize that there's absolutely no way you Can sleep until you find out if the kitten jumps over the saran-wrap, yk? Totally consensual, no persuasion or forcing him to stay at all on Mark's part.


	21. parents

**12/22/2020**

“You know, I really hope they all like each other,” Amy mutters, mixing the dough. “It’s… a bit unconventional, you know?” 

Ethan shudders, momentarily pausing in dicing onions and glances over at her. “Don’t even talk like that,” he warns, “you’re gonna jinx it!” Pursing her lips, she nods, and resumes mixing. 

“I’m just saying. Three sets of parents? That’s a lot.” She slides the bowl over to Mark, and gets to work on measuring more flour. “What if… What if they don’t approve?” 

“You know they will, Ames,” Mark assures, smoothing a comforting, if flour-caked, hand over her back. “They’ve said it before - they’re happy when we are. And even if they weren’t, that wouldn’t really affect us anyway. I love my mom, but I’m not going to end it with you two if she disapproves.” He watches as the tension seeps out of Amy and Ethan’s shoulders, and laughs at how similar they are. 

If one thing was for sure, he definitely had a type.   
“You’re right,” Ethan says, a minute later. He takes a shaky inhale, and cuts the onion in half with a little more force than necessary. “God, I wish I had a fuckin’ joint right now.” 

“Ditto,” Amy murmurs, and Mark shakes his head fondly. 

“You two seriously want to be high while having dinner with all three of our parents?” They glance at each other, and then him, and nod in synchronization. Mark nearly laughs again, and so as to not call their parents’ attention from the other room busies himself with the dough once more. “You’re awful.” 

Ethan shrugs, and walks over with the cutting board. As he pours in the onions, he murmurs a soft “not awful, just scared,” and Mark gently takes him by the waist.

“Hey,” he says, tilting Ethan’s chin up with his other hand. “It’s gonna be fine, I promise. Trust me, you’ll walk in there, your mom will probably call you ‘sweeb’ for some reason -”

“Long childhood story.” 

“- right - and everything is going to be fine. It might be a little awkward, yeah, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.” Amy draws closer, pretending to be looking for the knife right in front of them, and Mark takes the hint and tucks her into his side, too. “I love you both so much - one stupid dinner isn’t going to change that.” 

It’s silent for a moment, both of them mulling over his words, and then Amy snorts. “Simp.” 

Mark pulls away from her partially, keeping her at arm’s length so he can properly pretend to be offended. “Hey! I just gave a _heartfelt_ motivational speech about how much I love you two and all you can come up with is simp?” 

“Simp,” Ethan adds, and Mark pushes him away, too. 

“What the fuck - I thought this was supposed to be a _sweet_ moment!” 

“Have you met us?” Amy retorts, moving back to her own little “station” and picking up the whisk. “One of us can’t go two minutes without making a dick joke.” Ethan nods solemnly, like this is sacred knowledge, and Mark briefly wonders when one of them is going to team up with _him_ to gang up on the other. 

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair - but we can have our sweet moments!” 

“Like when?” 

Mark grins, and slides over to Ethan to press a kiss against his cheek. “Our first date with Ethan! We both somehow ended up getting him the same flowers!” 

Amy ducks her head, and Mark knows her well enough to know that she’s hiding a grin. “Yeah, that’s true, I guess.” 

“I don’t even know how you did that,” Ethan comments, throwing an arm around Mark’s waist. “I mean - Blue Daze aren’t even that common.”

Mark shrugs at that, trying to think back on that night and his thought process. “It’s just a very _you_ flower,” he finally decides on, smiling when Amy nods along with him. “I can’t explain it, but it just reminds me of you.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Ethan laughs. He slips away from Mark, getting started on dicing the bell peppers. “How can a flower remind you of someone?” 

Amy cracks an egg - deliberately looking at Ethan as she uses two hands to refrain from making a mess - and hums. “I dunno - just does. It’s pretty, like you!” 

“Stop,” Ethan jokes, using the voice he does when someone compliments him in a video and waving a hand dismissively. He’s blushing, though, so Mark doesn’t feel the need to reinforce that fact. “You’re too kind!” 

“Or you just don’t recognize how amazing you look all the time, which would be a damn shame.” Mark plops two dumplings in the pot, mentally comparing the sizzling noise to the heat quickly spreading across Ethan’s cheeks. He stifles a laugh, and thinking it’s directed at him, Ethan turns away from him. 

“Okay, okay, actually. We have parents to entertain - you two can’t just be drooling over me and my amazing ass all night.” 

Amy leans against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest and smiling in the way she does when she’s about to call out one of them on their idiocy. Mark can’t wait. “Funny thing,” she starts, waiting until Ethan turns around to continue, “I don’t think anyone mentioned your ass.” 

“Well am I _wrong?_ ” Ethan retorts, waving the knife he’s holding out recklessly. “I have a wonderful ass - you can’t deny that.”

Amy and Mark both shake their head to signify that no, he isn’t wrong, Ethan does have a great ass, and then glance at each other to confirm that they both did the same thing. “I think we’re simps,” Mark comments, and Amy nods again, struggling not to smile.

“Great! So glad that’s settled. Now don’t we have parents to feed?” Ethan turns back to cutting up the bell peppers, and Mark startles at that, realizing he left the dumplings in for the entirety of that conversation. 

They’re fine, thank god, but that was certainly a close one. “You know what? Fuck your butt, Nestor,” he mutters, quickly fishing them out and plating them. “It’s too distracting to be in the kitchen while we’re cooking.”

“Sorry, let me just send my ass on its merry way, then.” He moves around Mark, throwing the peppers onto the pan, and stirring for a second. “This looks _really_ good, not gonna lie gamers.” 

Amy passes the last of the dough to Mark, and wipes her hands on the kitchen towel. “I cannot believe you just called us gamers. I don’t even play video games.”   
Ethan points at her with the spoon and makes a weird “Ethan noise” from the back of his throat, but otherwise doesn’t retort. Rolling his eyes fondly, Mark finally plates the last of the dumplings, and takes the rest of the vegetables off of the stove so they don’t burn the house down, despite it technically being Ethan’s jurisdiction.   
“Are we ready to go?” He asks, already picking up the serving plates. “I think if they wait any longer they’re going to yell at us.” Glancing warily at the wall that separates the kitchen from their parents, Ethan and Amy nod slowly, and move to pick up the other food and plates. 

The sight that greets them is not one they’re expecting, to say the least.

Ethan and Amy’s moms are paired up on one side of the table, frantically whispering to each other behind a large fan of cards, glancing back and forth from the other parents to each other. Their dads are on the other side, also peering at a shared hand of cards and looking wearily at Mark’s mom, who is wearing sunglasses inside and fanning herself with a significantly smaller smaller hand and a glass of wine. 

“Wha - where did you even _get_ that?” Mark squeaks, hurriedly placing the plate of dumplings on the table so he doesn’t drop it in surprise. “The cards and the wine…” 

Amy stops dishing out plates to squint at the hand of cards, and laughs in surprise. “I’m not sure those are even ours.” 

“Of course not,” Sunok chides, placing down a yellow four, “they’re mine. I thought you three would take a long time.” 

Finished setting the table, Mark sits down beside Ethan, reaching over to intertwine their fingers under the table. Mark - Ethan’s dad, Mark - is looking at him, and he tries to ignore the nervous lump building in his throat. “Sorry about that, we got a little distracted. Food’s here now, though!” 

Annie seems relieved about that, and sets down her cards with a smile. “I guess we don’t have time to play anymore, then! What a shame…” 

Amy’s mom laughs, and pats her arm gently. Amy seems a little surprised by the friendly gesture, probably not expecting her mom to be friends with the others so soon, but she says nothing. “It’s okay, you can admit it. We were going to lose to Sunok anyway,” Ms. Nelson sighs, flipping over the hand that Annie had tried to discreetly hide. “We had twenty cards and no reds.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Mark, the dad, jokes, flipping over his cards, too. There’s a large section of greens and blues, but no yellows, and barely any reds. “I’m glad we weren’t the only ones eating dirt.” 

Ethan laughs at that, and when he doesn’t get a bad reaction, Mark and Amy join in, too. He’s not even sure why he’s so nervous - he’s met both of their parents before multiple times, and he’d like to say he has a fairly decent standing with them. There’s really no reason for being this terrified to _laugh_.

But this is different, in a way. It’s not just having dinner with a friend’s parents - they’re dating now, and that comes with a certain formality that has Mark regressing back into his awkward high school years. 

His mom finally sets down her cards with a disappointed sigh, joking about winning, and then looks over at him. Already knowing what’s coming, he shrinks a little in his seat, squeezing Ethan’s hand in anticipation. “Mark! Stop being so nervous! We don’t bite,” she teases, and the other parents immediately turn to look at him like a pack of wolves to a lost sheep. 

“You’ve met us all before, kid!” Amy’s dad laughs, leaning around the other Mark to talk to him. “Hell, we were just playing Uno on your table - I don’t think anyone here is going to kill you if you look at them wrong.” The sentiment is nice, but it still brings attention to how wound up he is, and Mark forces himself to release the tension in his shoulders with a hesitant smile. 

“If anything I’m glad we’re here at all!” Annie adds. “I was beginning to wonder when I would stop having to listen to Ethan pine over you two - no offense, Sweeb.” 

Ethan groans, and pries his hand out of Mark’s to cover his face with it. “What - mom! We weren’t even _talking_ about me,” he grumbles, and now that the spotlight is off of him Mark feels no remorse in petting his back placatingly. 

“That’s adorable, Eth,” Amy giggles. “I can’t believe you talked to your mom about us!” 

Ethan’s dad laughs at that. “And me. Andrew, too, apparently.”

Amy’s mom laughs, too, and when Ethan finally lifts his head from his hands she takes pity on him. “Don’t worry about that at all, hon,” she assures, glancing at Amy with a mischievous smile, “Amy did the same thing. Wouldn’t stop talking about you two to me and her dad for _ages_. You should have seen the first time she brought it up, back when even she didn’t realize she loved you - she was talking about you so passionately we thought she had cheated on Mark!” 

“You know what? Yes I did. I’ll admit it, I gushed about my boys every chance I got.” She turns to smile at them, and Mark can’t help but smile back, heart fluttering at the thought of her viewing him as something to show off, to talk about every chance she got. 

“Lucky - I never got anything like that from Mark,” Sunok sighs. “Didn’t tell me _anything_ until they were together.” 

After that, the conversation flows more easily between them all, and Mark feels foolish for being so nervous. Of course it would go well - he had Ethan and Amy by his side, after all.


	22. proposal

**12/15/2020 - 12/18/2020**

Mark runs a hand down the side of Ethan’s face, knuckles grazing his cheekbone and coming to rest on his jaw. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, cupping his jaw.

It’s a soft, achingly delicate moment, and Mark wants to savor it forever. But they’ve never been one for soft moments. 

“You’re a dumbass,” Ethan counters, tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes flicker down to Mark’s mouth, and the older man grins. “I love you.” 

Mark hums, moves the hand that’s resting on Ethan’s hip up to his waist. The fabric of his shirt catches on the action, and he ghosts his fingers over the newly-exposed skin there. “I _guess_ the feeling is reciprocated.” 

“You guess?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Ethan giggles and rests his hand on Mark’s shoulder, thumb smoothing over the seam of his shirt. The fabric makes a soft noise when he does, and the fact that he can hear it brings his attention back to the silence. “We should put some music on.” 

The gentle pressure against his collarbone stops, and Ethan looks up at him. “What? You hate listening to music with nothing to do.” 

“Who said we’d have nothing to do?” Grinning slyly, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, and swipes open to Spotify. Ethan giggles at his nearly-empty homepage, but he quickly kisses him to shut him up and pulls up some random vintage Christmas music. “Come on, follow me.” 

He moves to the center of the kitchen - leaving enough space between him and any counters or hazardous rugs - and tugs Ethan closer to him by his belt loops, giggling at the incredulous look his boy gives him. “Mark? What are we doing?” 

Instead of answering, though, Mark just shakes his head and nods his head to the song. “ _Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?_ ” He moves one of his hands up, to Ethan’s shoulder, and gently pushes him to get him swaying like he is. “ _In the lane, snow is glistening._ ” 

“You’re kidding me,” Ethan laughs, a breathy giggle that has Mark’s heart melting all over again. “We’re slow dancing in your kitchen to _winter wonderland._ You’re kidding me.” 

Knowing he’s just joking, Mark simply shrugs, and starts to guide them into a turn. “ _Walkin’ in a winter wonderland._ ” 

“Fuckin’ simp.” The younger man mirrors Mark - places a hand on his hip and one on his shoulder - and finally starts to sway with him. “ _Here to stay, is the newbird._ ” 

Wow. He always knew Ethan was a wonderful singer, if he really applied himself - both from hearing his singing recorded and the several songs he’d hum under his breath late at night - but _wow_. 

Mark doesn’t know if he’s truly that amazing or if he’s just fallen even more in love with the man. 

“ _Singing our song, as we go along_.”

“ _Walking in a winter wonderland._ ” They sway together for a moment, just basking in the jazz-y instrumentals and faint sound of the singer, and Mark can’t help but feel like this is where he’s meant to be. Slow dancing in his kitchen to old Christmas songs with his boy, nowhere even near Christmas. “Thought you didn’t like being sappy,” Ethan teases, when his dopey-eyed look has gone on just a little too long, and Mark tries to clumsily spin him. He’s never been much of a dancer, though, so Ethan’s arm just twists awkwardly as his socks slide on the wooden floors, and they lean onto each other for support as they laugh.

“What can I say?” Mark asks, when he’s finally calmed down. “I’m just a little bit of a bitch for you.” 

Ethan bats his eyelashes playfully and tugs on Mark’s shirt. “For me?” 

“Yeah, for you. Always for you.” They lapse into silence again, holding each other a little closer than before, and Mark dimly notes that _winter wonderland_ has been playing for a suspiciously long time now. “I think I set it to repeat somehow.” 

“You don’t say?” Ethan muses, humming along to the fourth “Mr. Snowman” they’ve heard during their relatively short dance. He doesn’t make any move to change this fact, though, so Mark stays put as well. “This song is a lot shorter than I thought it was.” 

Mark nods, listening to the transition from that song to the next loop. “How many snowmen do you think they’re building? Because so far I’ve heard Parson Brown and Mr. Snowman, but I haven’t really been listening.” 

“Too many - they’re probably using the yellow snow, too.” 

“Yikes.” He spins Ethan again, face lighting up when he’s successful, and pulls him closer, this time resting both of his hands on the man’s hips. “We should build our own Parson Brown, show ‘em who’s the better snowman builder.” 

Ethan giggles at that, and moves his arms up to Mark’s shoulders, tangling his fingers in the wispy hairs at the nape of his neck. “We can do that just as soon as it snows here.” 

“Oh shit, yeah.” How could he have forgotten that it doesn’t snow after living there for _six years?_ He blames Ethan’s stupid, pretty, distracting eyes. 

“Did you just _forget_ that LA doesn’t get below fuckin’ 50?” 

“Shh. You heard nothing.” 

Ethan simply hums at that, and rests his head on Mark’s chest. If he can hear the spike in the older man’s heartbeat, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Isn’t Parson Brown the one that tries to marry them or something?”

“I mean, he asks if they’re married, but yeah.” The lady sings about asking the snowman to ordain their marriage in the background, and he laughs at the timing. “Yeah, see?” 

“So you know Parson Brown asks if they’re married, but not that it doesn’t snow in the place you’ve lived for six years?” He lifts his head up from Mark’s chest, staring at him with a teasing smile crackling along his face, and laughs out loud at the pouty glare he receives. When Mark refuses to speak any more on the subject, he moves on. “Any particular reason you wanna build P.B.? Have a grudge against Mr. Snowman or something?” 

His grip tightens on Ethan’s hips, and he really hopes the younger man can’t pick up on the absolute tidal wave of anxiety that crashed over him with that sentence. It feels like an alarm, bright and distracting, and he’s certain everyone within a 5-mile radius can see it like a warning beacon.

And then Ethan cards a hand through his hair and squeezes his arm gently, and he’s reminded of why he even brought this up in the first place. “Well apparently ‘P.B.’ can officiate marriages, so…” 

He sucks in a sharp breath, and Mark’s worried he overstepped until Ethan interrupts whatever bullshit word vomit he was about to spew. “And is that - is that something you’re interested in? Marriage?” 

“A little bit, if I’m being honest.” Ethan’s shirt rides up when he clenches his hand in the fabric, and he distracts himself from the nerves bubbling up in his throat by running his thumb over the skin there. “Would you be interested? In… That?” 

“Uh -” The way Ethan averts his gaze does nothing to slow down his heartbeat, and he watches with rising anxiety as his boy shuffles a little bit away from him. “Are you - are you, like, proposing…?” 

“Oh, _god_ , no!” Mark shoots back, hands moving off of Ethan’s waist to flutter in the empty space between them. “Fuck, no - not right now.”

The relief on Ethan’s face is instantaneous, and the tension quickly drops out of his shoulders as he moves back towards Mark and takes his hands in his own. “Oh, okay, _whew_ -” he clears his throat, and shakes his head in disbelief. “Uh, yes, that is. Definitely something I’m interested in, but not… right now?” 

“No, I feel you on that,” Mark assures, clenching and unclenching his fists in Ethan’s hands to work off a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety. “I’m not - ready for that either. I just meant… in the future. I think it’d be nice.” 

“Me too,” Ethan smiles, carding his hands through Mark’s hair again. “How long do you think this will be when we get married?” 

“Probably to my fuckin’ butt. I’m thinking of cosplaying as Rapunzel, but, like, every day.” 

“If you do that I might have to just cut it off while you’re sleeping,” Ethan retorts, tugging lightly on the strands. Mark lets out a grossly-exaggerated hiss, hands flying up to grab at Ethan’s own, and grins when he cracks an eye open to see his boyfriend’s deadpan look.

“What? I thought you loved the long hair!” 

“I like it how it is _now_ \- anything else is bad.” His eyes roam down Mark’s body, taking in his worn shirt with a few-too-many holes and baggy sweatpants, and then come back to rest on his face with a warm smile. “I think you’d look nice in a suit.” 

“Yeah?” He returns his hands to Ethan’s waist, thumbs circling on his hip bones. “What color?” 

“Calm down, lover boy,” the younger boy teases, running a finger along his collar. “You haven’t even proposed yet, we don’t need to worry about color schemes yet.” 

“But I will.” 

“But you will.” Mark smiles, and pulls his boy into a kiss. He will, one day, even if that day is not today, and he can’t wait.


	23. sharing clothes

**12/20/2020**

Mark hums as he moves around the kitchen, making up an arbitrary tune to the sound of his slippers shuffling along the hardwood. It’s six in the morning - far too early for anyone else in the house to be up - and he revels in the relative silence of the morning.

The counter is cold when he leans against it, and he tries to chase away the lingering chill with a sip of his coffee. They usually turn the heater off each night to accommodate the sweltering mixture of heavy blankets, two dogs, and Mark’s absolutely inhuman body heat, so everything takes a little to warm up in the mornings. 

Still, he doesn’t regret it - last night was _hot_ \- and that was only made worse by the addition of Ethan in their bed. 

He smiles into his mug at the reminder of the boy, and hugs his robe tighter around himself. Ethan was a recent addition to their relationship - though the achingly slow gradual progression of him into their lives really should’ve disqualified him from the “new” status - and last night was one of the first times he had stayed over in a romantic sense. 

Of course, he only added to the furnace that was their room, but Mark figured it was worth it to see his face squished against the pillow and hear his raspy sleep-voice that night, and his weird-ass (but still somehow endearing) half-opened eyes in the morning. 

The waffles he had put in the toaster pop up and startle him, and he chuckles sleepily at the small splatter of coffee now on the floor. Despite getting up at five for years, one night of good rest had him half-awake and bleary. Good god, he was becoming weak. 

Moving clumsily, he wipes up the coffee with a paper towel, and then tosses his (still hot, somehow) waffles onto a plate. Forgoing the whole proper-breakfast-at-the-table experience, mostly due to the fact that he was eating Eggo waffles alone, he eats them over the sink, watching the trees sway outside. It's funny - it was an amazingly beautiful day, and he still just wanted to curl up into bed with his partners. 

He stares outside for a minute more before a shuffling from the bedroom catches his attention, and he turns toward it, expecting a dog needing to go out. 

Ethan is who peers back at him, though, and the way he sleepily rubs his eye has Mark’s heart melting. The sleeve of the hoodie he had borrowed from Mark is too big, and the fabric bunches up around his hand. “Good morning,” he rasps in a voice Mark’s not even sure belongs to Ethan, and he swears his heart stutters. 

“Morning,” he replies, hand squishing his waffle. “Didn’t think you’d be up this early.” 

Ethan shrugs, and the action jostles the collar of the hoodie, letting it slip down a little. “Lost the literal furnace burning into my side.” 

A tiny sliver of his shoulder is peeking out - sharp collarbone contrasting the softness of the morning, and Mark finally gets to give into the urge to stare. “Sorry about that. Now you know why the heat’s off.” Almost like the reminder has brought on a new wave of chill, Ethan shivers and tugs at the extra fabric of the hoodie, pulling it even farther around himself. Instead of teasing him this early in the morning, Mark decides to give the younger man a break, and gestures to his lukewarm breakfast. “Want a waffle?” 

“Not particularly. They look…” Ethan stops, and bites his lip as he tries to come up with a new adjective so as not to offend his boyfriend’s food in his own house. “Interesting.” 

Mark chuckles softly, and tosses the soggy waffle back onto his plate. “They are pretty gross, yeah. We have, like, yogurt and bananas, and - actually, you know where everything is. Help yourself. What’s mine is yours, and all that.” 

Ethan’s eyes widen a little at the implication, despite having heard almost the same sentiment hundreds of times before, and he awkwardly shuffles into the kitchen, looking a little bit like a lost kitten. He looks back at Mark for reassurance, and the man simply smiles and nods, tilting his head towards the cabinets. “Anything you want, babe. S’long as there’s no peanuts - those things are mine.” 

“Fuck off,” Ethan chuckles, but opens the bread cabinet anyway. 

While looking for something suitable to eat, he brushes a hand over Mark’s back every time they pass, and Mark swears he gets a little gooey-er every time he does. Which is weird, considering he usually doesn’t like touch all that much, but he doesn’t think about that too hard right now. The last time he does it, his hand lingers for a little longer, and he comes to stand beside the older man at the sink.

“This yogurt is good,” he hums, eating another spoonful. “I didn’t know you were into the ‘Christmas specialty flavor’ variety.” 

“He’s not,” Amy interrupts, shuffling out from the bedroom before Mark can say anything, “that’s mine.” 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry - !”

Amy chuckles and scoots into a stool on the other side of the bar, reaching over to take the spoon out of Ethan’s limp hands. “It’s fine, honey. If I were that territorial over it I would’ve written my name on it.” 

Mark glances at her - hair messy from sleep but still somehow beautiful, the sunlight filtering in through the window behind them framing her perfectly, another one of his hoodies absolutely dwarfing her - and smiles dopily. “That was one time,” he grumbles, despite the grin on his face. “You kept stealing my cheese - what was I supposed to do?” 

“Buy more?” Ethan suggests, smiling at them. He makes grabby hands for the spoon, and Amy passes it back easily, her routine “Amy tax” having already been paid. “You’re rich, dude - cheese isn’t that much.” Their girlfriend nods along, and Mark flushes an even darker shade of red. 

“Listen - I couldn’t just go out in the middle of the week -” 

“You’re a YouTuber. Just accept defeat and get me a banana,” Amy hums, leaning over the counter to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. And, like the foolishly whipped man he is, Mark does. 

“I’m glad we settled that argument in a completely fair, non-biased way,” Ethan teases once Mark gets back to the sink. He drops the spoon in the left side, like he’s done for months, and sets aside the yogurt carton to throw away later. “Any other plans now that that’s done with?” 

Amy tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and shuffles on the seat. “I was thinking we could get some Christmas shopping done today - maybe get a video in, too?” 

“What video were you thinking?” Mark asks, because he honestly can’t think of a single thing they could do with that that wouldn’t expose a few things he isn’t quite ready to tell their fans yet. 

“Some cliché ‘run through the mall and see who can get the funniest gift for the other in x amount of time’ video maybe? We could also just do a white elephant gift exchange.” She shrugs and runs her finger over the counter, flicking off any crumbs that accumulated there onto the floor. “How did you even get crumbs here?” 

Side-stepping that, because even _he_ doesn’t know how they got there, Mark nods quietly. “That sounds fun,” he muses. “What do you think, Ethan?” 

“I think it’s a good idea! I’d like to stay inside for a little bit before then, though.” He looks down when he says it, fiddling with the yogurt carton, and Mark realizes that the man _still_ doesn’t get the fact that they’re all decision-makers here. 

“Of course, dude. Movie to wake up?” he suggests, hand reaching out to graze against Ethan’s wrist. “It’s a slow morning kind of day, anyway.” 

Amy must catch on to what he’s doing, because she adds that they have all of the blankets on the bed still and a plethora of Christmas movies they haven’t even touched, and Ethan perks right up. 

“That sounds great, actually,” he says, taking the yogurt cup with him to the garbage. He plants a kiss on both Mark and Amy’s cheek as he passes, and rests his hand on Amy’s shoulder when he finds his way on the other side of the counter. “I’ll go get the blankets and you two set up?” 

“Sounds great,” Mark assures. Ethan squeezes Amy’s shoulder and shuffles back into the bedroom, and Mark watches him go, still feeling a little flutter at the sight of his hoodie hanging so loosely on his boyfriend. 

Amy turns to watch him go, too, and when she twists back around she has a stupid smile on her face. Mark knows the feeling. “He’s adorable,” she gushes, fiddling with her sleeves, “I can’t believe your hoodie is that big on him. You two are pretty similar in size.” 

“I know, right? I mean, that one was big on me anyway, but still… I can’t believe he was actually interested in us.” 

“I know, right? We’re completely _awful_.” Amy rolls her eyes good-naturedly, and Mark gently pats her hand in lieu of the playful swats he and Ethan would trade back and forth. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Ethan comes bustling back into the room then, juggling four heavy blankets and nearly falling when he steps on one, and Amy softens. “Yeah, I do. We got lucky.”


	24. staying up for santa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh transfem mark who still uses the name mark because i said so <3

**12/23/2020**

“... Hey, do you want to stay up waiting for Santa?” Ethan asks, nudging Mark with his elbow and doing his best impression of a car salesman’s grin. “We could get a video out of it or something.” 

She pauses in her gift wrapping, scissors dangling mid-air, and Ethan thinks he’s going to be mocked until she shrugs. “Sure, why not? Not like I’m doing anything on Christmas, anyway.” 

Eyes widening comically, Ethan sits back on his heels and braces his hands on her shoulders. “Seriously?” he asks, shaking her slightly. “I thought you were going to, like, make fun of me.” 

Mark glances over the box she had been wrapping, and seemingly deciding she can spare a second to have this conversation, turns to face him completely. “Why would I do that?” She tilts her head like she does when she’s confused, and Ethan starts to believe she’s being genuine. 

“I don’t know. I mean, Santa spoiler ahead, but he’s not real, you know? We wouldn’t be waiting for anyone.” 

“I know. We’ve done dumber shit, though.” Turning away again, she cuts out a new strip of wrapping paper and smiles when the scissors glide. “So what were you thinking?” 

He doesn’t need much more of an invitation than that to start rambling. 

When the night finally comes, Mark opens the door with a bright smile, and Ethan chokes on her spit at her outfit. “ _What_ are you wearing?” 

“A Santa outfit!” She does a little spin, once Ethan moves farther into the foyer, and the skirt flares out in a bell shape. “It was from an earlier video and I just didn’t change. Also, I figured Santa might come sooner if he could sense a female of his species.” 

Ethan takes a moment to process the words, and then bursts out into laughter, giggling harder when Mark joins in. “A… a female of his - are you trying to fuck Santa?” 

“I thought you’d pay more attention to the ‘species’ part, but sure. I mean - he is excellent with _toys_.” Mark waggles her eyebrows suggestively, and Ethan swats at her arm with a groan. 

“You’re disgusting,” he laughs, moving past her to go into the house. He glances at the area available, and starts planning where he could film certain things. “So I was thinking we could do more of a camcorder kind of style? Like, Blair Witch Project almost.” 

“Are you trying to turn Santa into a cryptid?” Mark leans on the kitchen counter, resting her head on her hand and raising an amused eyebrow. “Because if you are, I volunteer to be said cryptid.”

Ethan hums, and looks around the room once more. The sun has set already, so there’s no light aside from the Christmas tree and yellowing ceiling light, and he nods excitedly. “We could do that, yeah. Summoning a ghost part two, except without the semen.” 

“Aw, come on! The semen was the best part!” 

“Says you,” Ethan winces. “You didn’t have to deal with jokes about it for months. My friends are ruthless, dude.” Mark nods at that, but smiles in a way that tells Ethan she’s on his friends’ side. 

“Anyway, we should probably get started soon,” she says, stifling a yawn behind her hand. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t stay up really late anymore.” 

“Grandma,” Ethan teases, but digs his camera out of his bag anyway. “So I was thinking we could get started like one of those dudebro challenge channels…”

It’s hours later before they’re done filming, and Ethan flops down on the couch with a groan, clutching at the bruise on his thigh from when he ran into the banister on the stairs. “Remind me to never try and climb a tree in the dark again,” he hisses.

Falling down beside him, Mark pulls down her skirt and hums, leaning as far back against the couch as she can and tilting her head up. “Yep. I’ll definitely keep that in mind for the next time you try to climb a fuckin’ tree.” 

Not having a witty retort to that right now, Ethan just laughs, and throws a tired arm around her to pull her closer. “Thanks for filming with me,” he whispers. He’s not sure why, exactly, he’s whispering, but it feels right in that moment, so he rolls with it. “Saved me a lonely night in.” 

“Same here,” she replies, leaning her head against her shoulder. “Well, I was in, anyway, but you know.” 

“Yeah.” Stealing a page out of her book from so many years ago, he leans in to press a kiss to the top of her head, smiling when he can feel her body shake with silent laughter against his. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too.”


	25. dinner and a movie

**12/20/2020 - 12/22/2020**

Ethan’s phone rings in the middle of his dinner, and being too tired to really think at the moment, he answers it with a bite of noodles still halfway to his mouth. 

_“Hey!”_ Mark greets, once the call connects, and Ethan makes a small slurping noise in response. _“Are - are you eating right now?”_

“Kinda. Noodles.” He slurps again, and Mark’s pixelated brows furrow. The image is shoddy - he must be somewhere with poor connection. 

_“You sound_ tired, _dude - you doin’ okay?”_

Not having the energy to confirm nor deny that statement, Ethan simply shrugs. “Homesick. What’s up?” 

_”Oh - I’m sorry.”_ Mark stops, then, not knowing what else to say. Ethan’s been homesick for a while, now, and he’s already comforted the younger man enough to last a lifetime - judging by how utterly lifeless he looks, any hollow placations probably wouldn’t go over well right now. _”That’s kinda… what I wanted to talk about, though.”_

Ethan hums and eats another bite of noodles. 

Ignoring the small spark of irritation that ignites in him, Mark continues on. _”Uh, as you know, we can’t - can’t visit our families this year. Obviously.”_ He winces at his clunky phrasing when Ethan lets out a dry chuckle, and he clears his throat to get them back on track. _”And you’re really my only friend around here - I was wondering if you might want to, like, celebrate Christmas at my place? It’s just an idea, though! Just spitballing here, but -”_

Ethan’s about to bring up Amy, if only to interrupt Mark’s rambling, but quickly shuts his mouth when he remembers. The two of them had broken up only a couple months ago, and Amy was currently camping up north to let things settle between them. Talking about her would only be inviting even more negative feelings into this conversation, and that’s not something he wanted to do right now. 

So he lets Mark ramble a little bit more, and takes another bite of his noodles. “Mark,” he finally says, swallowing harshly. “I’d love to, dude. I was gonna bring up the idea myself sometime, honestly. Probably in a joke so I’d have some plausible deniability, but, you know.” 

He can see Mark’s grin even through the shitty quality of the image, and his heart flutters a little at it. “Great! God, it’ll be so good to see you, man. Get some rest and then we can hash out solid plans later, yeah?” 

Ethan nods, and quickly says goodbye before his screen goes black once more. Fuck, what did he just agree to? Dinner, with Mark, at Mark’s house, _alone_ , with Mark at Mark’s house. 

It sounded suspiciously like a date. 

Deciding he’s too tired to deal with that right now, Ethan finishes up his dinner and flops face-first into bed. 

When the day finally comes, Ethan’s not nearly as prepared as he ought to be. 

He's still frantically trying to find an outfit while fussing over the wrapping on the gifts he bought _and_ double-checking that he has everything he needs to spend the night. Needless to say, he's a bit of a mess.

Thankfully, his alarm startles him out of his panicked daze, and decides that the maroon button up and black pants (the ones that make his ass look great, mind you) are good enough.

It's not like this is a date, anyway. He doesn't know why he's getting so worked up over this.

Mark knocks on the door, ready to pick him up like any friend who's hanging out with another friend one-on-one over dinner in a completely platonic manner would, and Ethan trips over his duffel bag as he races for the door.

"Fuck!" He hisses, kicking at the thing and moving on. His knee feels a little achy now and he'll probably have a couple bruises later, but that doesn't matter now.

What does matter is Mark. Mark, who's currently standing outside Ethan's door, in a similar style of formal-casual (thank god), and styled hair. Like, curling iron and hairspray styled hair. Ethan is pretty sure he’s going to actually die at some point tonight. 

"I haven’t seen you style your hair aside from half-up-half-down in months,” is the first thing Ethan blurts, because of course it is, and he winces. "Also hi."

Instead of the cocky assholery he’s expecting, Mark glances at the floor, smiling shyly. "Felt like I should, you know? Big night." He tugs at his hair when he says it, the soft curls bouncing under his touch and shining in the streetlight, and Ethan has to seriously put effort into not reaching out and running a hand through them. “Anyway - you ready to get going?”

Not having the mental energy to meticulously pick apart what Mark means by “big night,” Ethan just smiles and nods, and steps out into the cool night. “So, are we getting McDonald’s? KFC? In-N-Out?” 

Again, Mark ducks his gaze as he opens the trunk for Ethan, and coughs awkwardly at the ground. “Actually, I, uh, planned on making dinner.” 

“Oh.” For some reason, the simple little admission has Ethan’s heart racing, and he hopes Mark can’t tell that he’s practically hanging on to the duffel bag for dear life. “That’s sweet of you, Mark!” 

“I needed to get rid of the pasta anyway - it’s too much for just me.” Remembering _why_ he had no one to share it with, Mark sighs and glances over at Ethan. “Hope that’s okay?” 

“Of course, dude! You know I love your pasta.” He rests a gentle hand on Mark’s shoulder, painfully aware of the new tension between them, and tosses his duffel bag into the back with a soft thump. “Ready?” 

Snapping out of a daze, Mark nods, and opens Ethan’s door for him before walking to the driver’s side. The action only fuels the sneaking suspicion that this whole Christmas dinner is more date-like than it ought to be between two friends, but he bites his tongue for now. 

They spend the twenty minute drive in relative silence - Ethan itching to turn the radio on but knowing neither would listen, Mark lost in his own little world - and it isn’t until Mark’s halfway through making dinner that one of them has anything of substance to say. 

Shaking the colander, Mark clears his throat and turns towards Ethan. “So, I figured we could just eat dinner on the couch? It’s not very formal, but…” he trails off at that, clearly not wanting to bring up either of their homesickness, and Ethan nods gratefully. 

“Yeah, that sounds great dude. Want me to get a head start on picking out something to watch?” Flashing him a relieved smile, Mark nods back at him, and starts shaking out the colander again. 

Scrolling through the various movie titles is a simple enough distraction, and keeps him from thinking about the possibility of them eating at the table. Together. Like a date. He scrubs at his cheeks as though that will wipe away the blush undoubtedly spreading there and focuses harder on reading the summaries of movies he knows he won’t watch anyway. 

“Alright, food’s ready!” Mark _finally_ says, walking into the living room with two bowls in hand. He sets them down on the table with a soft _clink_ , and Ethan’s immediately reaching for his bowl before Mark has even sat down. “Bon appétit!” 

“Thank you, monsieur,” Ethan teases, taking a bite of the pasta. “ _Fuck_ , this is good. Thanks, man.” 

The older man glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and clears his throat before speaking. “‘Course. I’m glad you like it.” There’s something off about his tone, but Ethan doesn’t pay it any mind, too busy trying to juggle taking another bite of pasta and navigating to a movie they could watch. 

It fails miserably, but he has Love Actually up and playing so that’s something. 

He’s too busy wiping pasta sauce off of his mouth and hand to notice Mark staring at him, and when he sets the napkin down his friend is a lot closer than before. “Hold on,” he murmurs, voice soft enough that Ethan has to strain to hear it, “you have something on the corner of your mouth.” 

A little flustered by their newfound proximity, Ethan’s first thought is to _lick it_ , and it’s only when his tongue is already halfway out of his mouth that he realizes that’s probably not the most effective plan. A new heat on his cheeks, he reaches for the napkin, and dabs the area Mark’s pointing at. “Did I get it?” 

The older man shakes his head, and he tries again. And again. And again. Eventually, Mark lets out a little frustrated huff, and scoots closer to Ethan. “Here, let me -” 

And then his thumb is swiping along the corner of his mouth, calloused pad dragging along his skin and pointer finger curling under his chin, tilting his head up a little. “There,” he whispers, eyes flicking over Ethan’s face. “Got it.” 

He sits back slowly, bringing his hand up to his mouth, and then his tongue darts out to get the sauce on his thumb and Ethan’s brain short-circuits. The blush on his face must be obvious, because Mark smiles like he hadn’t turned Ethan’s world upside down and looks back at the screen. “That is good pasta.” 

“What -” Ethan stops, and runs a hand through his hair anxiously, tugging on the strands. “Mark, wha…? You’re - just going to watch the movie?” 

Mark turns to him, a knowing smile on his face, and leans in. “Is there something you’d rather I do?” 

And there is, actually. Something Ethan would really rather Mark do right at this moment, and he doesn’t need much more of an invitation than _that_ , so he pulls the older man in for a long-awaited kiss.

“Oh thank god,” Mark says when they break apart, cocky facade from before gone. “I was really scared I was reading too much into this.” 

“Me, too,” Ethan laughs. “Then again, you did practically lick pasta sauce off my face. Which is somehow weird as fuck yet strangely enticing?” 

Mark rolls his eyes at that, but he smiles anyway. “Perfect. I’m glad my advances were ‘weird as fuck’ to you.”

“Hey! I said they were enticing, too!”


	26. Gifts

**12/21/2020**

“So, I know we agreed on no presents, but I figured you were going to get me one anyway so I bought you one, too.” Mark gives him a playful glare, and Ethan sticks his tongue out in retaliation. “Come on, I know you did! This is just, like, preemptive action.” 

Rolling his eyes, Mark takes the present with a fond smile, fingers smoothing over the glossy wrapping paper. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to.” 

“I wanted to, dumbass.” He waits a moment, and when Mark does nothing he shoves the gift even farther into his hands with an expectant smile on his face. “Open it!” 

Never one to say no to his boy, Mark shimmies a finger under one of the folds in the paper, gently running it along the seam and under the tape like one would an envelope. He’s so careful and slow with it that Ethan has half a mind to rip it out of his hands and open the damn thing himself, but the care for the wrapping is endearing, so he sits on twitching hands and watches. 

Once he’s finally gotten to the box, Ethan leans forward in anticipation, biting the inside of his cheek as Mark looks over the thing - flipping it this way and that to fully take it in. “You don’t have to guess what it is,” Ethan comments, “you can just open it and find out.” 

Mark just keeps looking over the box in response, and shakes it lightly with a pointed look at his boyfriend. “You’re so anxious over this - it’s cute.” 

“I am! I’m not sure if you’ll like it.” Despite the urge to rip open the present growing stronger, Ethan sticks his tongue out between his teeth. 

“I’m sure I’ll love it, Eth,” Mark assures, finally moving to take the lid off the box. He nearly drops the present when the lid finally slides completely off, but catches it at the last second with a sheepish smile. “These boxes are always a pain.” 

“Sorry,” Ethan giggles, “I figured you’d open it quicker and the box wouldn’t be as much of a problem.” 

“You know me, ever the problem-maker.” 

Ethan nods solemnly, like this is common knowledge, and raises a finger pointedly. “It’s why you couldn’t be an engineer - they had to kick you out.” 

Mark laughs at that, loud and long and hard, and once the full-body tremors have subsided, he glances back down at the present still in his hands, fingers ghosting over the white tissue paper. “You know, this is really nicely wrapped,” he teases, “I almost can’t believe you did it.” 

“Oh my god, open the fucking present, Mark. There’ll be plenty of time to roast my wrapping skills later.” 

Taking pity on Ethan, Mark smiles shyly and finally peels back the paper, gasping when he sees what’s inside. 

It’s a small necklace - made to rest comfortably in the space between the collarbones - with a silver chain and small locket. When Mark opens it, his eyes dart over the inscription again and again, before he finally turns to the picture. 

_Partners in crime, accomplices in idiocy. Thank you for choosing me._

It’s paired with a picture of them in their Unus Annus suits - faces squished together and infectious smiles splitting them practically in half - and Ethan is too busy reminiscing in the moment to hear Mark’s quiet sniffling until he’s being crushed in a hug. 

“Fuck, Eth,” he whispers, scruff rubbing against his neck and making Ethan want to simultaneously squirm away and scoot closer. “This is… fuck.” 

“Sappy?” Ethan supplies, hands rubbing circles into Mark’s back. “Because you’d be absolutely correct.” 

“No - I mean, yeah, but.” Mark sniffs again, before pulling back. His eyes are watery when they meet Ethan’s, and the younger boy wipes away a stray tear that slips out. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” 

Suddenly bashful under the praise, Ethan ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s really nothing -” he starts, but Mark’s hand on his chin silences him. 

“It’s everything,” he murmurs, leaning in just a little bit closer. “I love you.”

When they kiss, Ethan can taste tears and chocolate and the mint chapstick Mark uses, and he quickly decides that this is his favorite Christmas by far.


End file.
